Heart of the Dream
by Ithilien
Summary: -Complete- The will of the Ring is stronger than many may realize. Aragorn comes to see that the Ring's power can be deceptive and that lies can be made into torments all their own. Non-con slash warning. AU.
1. With Roots Running Deep

_A/N:_ Just a few words before we go anywhere. Cue the bold lettering please.

**WARNING! The following story is rated R due to violence and sexual content. This story will contain a male/male pairing (Aragorn/Legolas) and contains non-consensual sex acts. It is not pretty, and is DEFINITELY NOT FOR ANYONE UNDER THE AGE OF 17 TO READ WITHOUT THE CONSENT OF A GUARDIAN. **

I suppose I should also say that this story is an AU (alternative universe), though this fic follows the steps Tolkien laid out for us exactly. I have introduced one more element into the mix, my own blend of evil, though nothing changes of the outcome. Let's see where that takes us.

Of course, credit/blame should go where it is due. It's all Lamiel's fault ::points to Lamiel::. Had she not questioned one of my canon gaffs some time back, or better yet, suggested a way to make another story of mine more *ahem* exhilarating, this fiction might still be sitting in the recesses of my sorry head. Funny how things happen; she became the beta for this story as a result. And I am eternally grateful to her for her help. For months and months. she has been my greatest champion, cheering me on through my doubt, offering suggestions where needed, and performing that most tedious of tasks -- editing '. . . and editing . . . and editing. Good gravy, she is resilient! I think I shall worship her now. Will you join me? If you've read her stories, you should. If you haven't go look them up. She's on my Favorite's list. You'll see why.

I also owe a huge thanks to Elf Lady for being another set of eyes in proofing. Even in the throes of all the stuff going on at her own website, she gave me her time, and I truly appreciate that. (Elf Lady photo archives all things Orlando Bloom, and there's this new movie with him in it about to break loose at the theaters. It's hell week for her, or joy week, however you want to look at it, but go see www.elflady.com if you want to be in on all of the Troy/Orlando Bloom goodness.)

Thanks also to Angel. I'm sorry technology got in the way of a really good thing but I truly appreciate what was put in despite it. 

Enough of this. Time to read.

_  
  
  
  
  
  
Summary:_ The will of the Ring is strong - stronger in fact than many may realize. And as we know, the Ringbearer was not the only one to suffer its seduction. In this tale, which follows the course of the Fellowship from Hollin to Rauros, Aragorn comes to see that the Ring's power can be deceptive and that lies can be made into torments all their own. Featuring Aragorn and Legolas. Non-con and slash warning. Rated a strong R.

_Disclaimer:_ All characters and places used in this story are the creation of J.R.R. Tolkien and belong solely to his estate. No profit was made from this venture. I did it because my muse threatened to pummel me if I didn't.

  
  
  
  
  
  
**Heart of the Dream**  
_by Ithilien_

  
  
**Chapter One: With Roots Running Deep**

  
Elven eyes can penetrate a soul. This was common knowledge among beings that dealt with that fair race. Even the staunchest of men had difficulty maintaining contact in this most intimate of ways. They would tell you it was as if your heart were laid bare when an elf beheld you. 

Aragorn had long known this. It was the only thing about elves that he found disconcerting, despite the many years he had spent in their company. It was telling that he could hold their eye longer than any man he knew, but he had never come to terms with how deeply they could delve. They could wrench the most secretive of thoughts from a man, though one might never be sure if that was truly their intent. All save one had the power to cut through him, but only because she chose not to use this weapon. She did not wield the power of her stare upon him. 

"Undomiel," he whispered as the cool eyes of Galadriel bore into him, cutting through the word that he had erected to protect him. The elf Queen knew his love was only a mask to what he hid beneath the surface of his heart. 

Still, he would remember Arwen's loving gaze. She above all others looked at him outwardly. She accepted on faith the person that she believed him to be. If she only knew what was in the deep recesses of his soul, she might not be so willing to trust him.

_I have betrayed you, my love. _

There were men who would say that the stare of an elf was painful to bear. Of course, this was untrue, at least physically. Perhaps what they really meant was the intensity of those eyes could cause introspection so great that it hurt, like a knife's cut, and that _was_ true. But in all kindness to the elves, it should be noted that the agony came from within, caused by one's personal judgment of oneself, not from that which the elves wrought.

Aragorn felt the pain now being subjected upon him. His heart beat wildly, retribution leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. Galadriel's eyes raked over him, and it felt like rock tearing flesh. _She knows,_ he thought, and he did not need her voice in his head to confirm what was already there. 

They stood on the great talan before Galadriel and Celeborn. All of the Fellowship was there, save Gandalf. His heart ached for the missing wizard, but he knew he would be judged for other things beyond that loss. Their journey had brought them to Lothlorien, and they sought refuge from the enemy. Yet he truly knew the enemy was among them. They would only be hiding from themselves.

Celeborn had made his greetings, his demeanor cordial, but cautious. Galadriel probed their individual minds, and he knew her intent was to see the truth of their hearts. He shuddered, knowing what she would find when she looked into him. Horror. Wickedness. Base villainy. And true to his worries, she lingered over him.

The voice in his head was rich and strong and powerful as it rolled through his mind. _"Shall I expose you now for your crimes, Strider of the North, or would you rather I drew this out slowly and made you look upon yourself in smaller ways?"_

He bowed his head, unsure what he might reply. He felt the crushing agony of his own inflicted tensions. Muscles constricted in his chest making him feel as if a horrible weight were upon him, and his stomach felt as if a stone sat in his gut, heavy and unpurged. In his mind he replied, _"I know my sin, fair Lady. I am not worthy to stand before you. Mete out justice as you see fit. I will object to none."_

And with that he relinquished any holds he might have had and allowed the elven Queen admittance into his memories. It was with shame that he looked back on the crimes he had committed. And Galadriel would judge him. Secretly he welcomed it, the penance she would lay upon him. But sadly, as much as he wished to shed himself of the mantle of hurt and guilt he wore, he also knew nothing she said would be enough. He knew his sin.

  
  
_***  
***  
***  
_  
  
The cool wetness of the waterskin being handed to him startled Aragorn. The muscles in his jaw clenched, and he felt a sudden tenseness run over his body. The icy feel of moisture nipped him, prompted by a breath of wind, and it made him tremble slightly with the chill. And too, it was invigorating, a sensitive reminder of life in the wilds. The cold of winter could be brutal and thrilling, and he breathed in the chilled air, taking the freshness of it into his lungs and feeling the full of the earth's beauty. 

A brush of flesh grazed him as the flask was exchanged. The passing hand was warm and smooth, and he looked at the long white fingers pressing the waterskin upon him. His eyes locked upon them. It was not that he had not noticed the form before, but somehow that cool touch combined with warm skin caught his attention. And there, the one passing the flask seemed to lean in to the gesture, and a small thrill ran through Aragorn. There was sensual pleasure to be found in the press of flesh to flesh. 

"Aragorn?"

A light voice, lilting with a musical quality that made the word seem accented and strange, caught his mind and he looked up to the one who had uttered the sound. He suddenly met the sparkle of elven eyes. 

Everything occurred in the tedious pace of slowed time then. He glanced back down at the hand that was pulling away, watching the grace-filled motion, intrigued by the slender fingers, the sinewy tendons, the short and neat nails, the unblemished skin. The hand contrasted so very dramatically with the man's sun-baked flesh. Aragorn looked to the waterskin and noted how his hands were ruggedly calloused, darkened with soil and stain. They showed deep gouges and old scars of torn skin, marks that told the tale of his life in the wilds. But there was not a scratch upon the other's beautiful flesh. 

It was so small a thing. It seemed incongruous that he should even notice it. Legolas had refilled their waterskins, typical really of the helpfulness he offered within their Fellowship, and now he was passing them about. It was just a minute part of camp life, but somehow it had caught his attention. 

He looked back into the elf's eyes. _Such beauty._

It was not something he might normally ponder, for he had no attraction to men, but his thoughts drifted on the current of that thought as if in a dream. . . . Legolas was different than men. He was beautiful, and his beauty demanded admiration. He longed to fall into the light of the elf's eyes and remain there. He was buoyed by the moment, his breath carried away. He was frozen and perplexed and enthralled and at that given second in time he wanted nothing more than to be still, and to take the vision into his soul. He was trapped and he cared not. 

"Aragorn?"

And then those eyes penetrated him. They pierced his wandering thoughts and he was suddenly free of his mesmerized gaze and caught in the shame of his perverted reckoning. Instantly, the outward yearning was gone. So slippery and willowy was it in its relinquishment that Aragorn could hardly recognize it had been there. It had taken him like the brush of a wind, and in that brief moment it seemed the breeze had changed. 

_Was that a taste of the Ring's prying?_ he wondered as he returned to the person he knew himself to be, shivering in sudden distaste. All that day, the Ring had been gently trying the man's thoughts, or at least that is what he supposed. He scowled though, knowing he had his doubts on that as well. Still this latest meandering, so wildly errant to his normal state of mind, seemed to indicate the Ring was toying with him. He turned his eyes to Frodo, looking for a clue as to why this was happening but found nothing there. And then he turned back to the embarrassment at hand. Such erratic thoughts did not suit him. Ring or not, he would will them back. They had no place in his heart. Even still, he could not quite school his immediate shame. 

Legolas blinked inquisitively, cocking his head to the side. His lips turned up in a modest smile, likely noticing Aragorn's ruddy shade and suddenly evasive eyes.

"Are you well?" the elf asked simply enough. 

"I am," Aragorn answered with eyes downcast. Of course it was a lie. His heart was thudding in his chest and a constricting lump in his throat all but kept him from breathing, and he felt sure Legolas could see the physical signs that his words were untrue. 

But the elf did not appear to regard him as false. He nodded as if that was all he need know and moved away, glancing back in query as he did, but finding the sight not worth exploring. Aragorn watched with something akin to an ache as the elf walked past, continuing to hand out the water implements to their various owners as they made ready to break the camp and he wondered why the elf had so caught his attention. Was it the Ring truly? 

_Fatigue_. He put it to that, for even these first few days of the Quest were difficult and tiring. They traveled higher and higher up into the mountains and it was wearing upon them all. The smallest among them were not conditioned for this road, and it made the burden of the others that much greater because of the additional tasks they must take up. Fatigue was playing upon them all. 

He glanced about, thinking of the others, and as he did so, his gut tightened. 

Apprehensively, he considered the responsibility he had taken in this Quest. They were all in his care, and though he knew himself to be a capable enough leader, he somehow felt his inadequacies wore through his staunch armor. For the first time in a long time he felt uncertain of his skills.But he pushed such self-doubts aside. This Quest was too important to let his worries hamper him.

Still, playing the role of leader did not come easily to him. So long in the wild he had answered to no one. His concerns centered on himself and those he guarded from afar. But now . . . Now he was the guardian of the Ringbearer, second only to Gandalf as the guide of the Fellowship, and he knew that many of his companions, especially the Hobbits, looked to him for his strength and knowledge. He did not know if he could meet their expectations, for though he appeared confident and sure, he was as capable of failure as the next man. He had flaws. He was no model of perfected skills. 

For that his eyes sought out Legolas again. Strong, true, skilled and sure. In some ways, the man envied the elf for his perfection in almost everything he did. Aragorn doubted Legolas ever suffered such qualms as he did. 

A jolt of insecurity hit him. He suddenly felt small in comparison and his shame wrapped around him like a cloak. Measuring himself against the elf, he could not stand up. He was the inferior. And just as rapidly, he fought it off, recognizing that _this_ was but the murmuring of the Ring. It was a subtler effect than the last prod, and therefore was more dangerous in his mind. Yet he caught it and he consciously drove his mind to other thoughts.

Warily he observed those around him. He knew they too were feeling the daunting duties put before them. His eyes settled again upon Frodo. The Hobbit suffered almost constantly the silent urgings of the Ring. Aragorn could see the worry lines creasing his small friend's brow and mouth. He could not imagine what it must be like to endure that kind of prodding, for though he too was the subject to the bauble's yens, those small moments were all he ever had to endure. They were nothing compared to the suffering Frodo must be made to take. The Hobbit proved himself the more worthy among them just in that.

What must it be like, to be taunted so? Aragorn could not guess, for despite the inadequacies and doubts foisted upon him, that object spoke nothing to him of taking It into his possession. He felt certain he could not do such, for he saw the Ring only as ugly, a hideous weapon that needed to be put to an end for the sake of mortal salvation. It seemed to Aragorn It must whisper of the power It could wield, but to that the Ranger felt immune. He had no desire for dominance. Neither did he wish to rule. The Ring could not touch him this way. 

Nay, for Aragorn's desires were simple. He wished only to spend his life with his true love and he scorned the Ring's pitiful temptations. It was nothing compared to what she gave him.

_Arwen. _

Just her name was enough to send a pleasant thrill to his heart. He relished the thought of her beauty and he mourned his parting from her. A few days were all they had managed in their journey, yet it felt like a lifetime. It was always like this though, and he knew it would pass only with the modesty time offered. Still, how long had he loved her and been kept apart from her? It twisted his heart that they must always do the same. Their places in the world kept them away, but that would soon end. This Quest would set their destiny to right, and he would see them together if he could. He would. He must. He loved her as he loved his own soul.

His mind wandered away to a time and place better than this one -- a bower in the Imladris gardens. _Was it just a month back? _He remembered autumn's grace in that den, but the loveliness could only attempt rivalry of her beauty. He thought on her then, considering her loveliness, her wisdom, her fairness. Her words of encouragement had given him the strength to commit to this Quest. She knew how important it would be, for this world, for his world, for their world jointly. She had insight into what they would be, and he could see the vision with her as she told him all they would become. Glories and love and beauty. They had that to look forward to together. And though he could never match her, he knew he balanced her, for he had physical strength and perseverance that she could not wield. He had the ability to seek and destroy that which kept them apart, and he fed on her faith. She was his stamina and he was her brute force. She complemented him, and he her. Together they were whole.

He sighed. She was everything to him and he would willingly lay down his soul for her if she should ask it. He breathed that he might be given the opportunity to feast upon her honey voice and dauntingly beautiful eyes. He would forever be her ardent admirer. He was hers to command, and he would willingly do anything she bade of him.

Perhaps that was power for her memory strengthened him. And if that was so, he knew that he also wielded it over her, for as much as he would give for her, he was certain she would return the same. But the Ring and Its power? He scoffed at that ruse. He had power already in the guise of love, and he wanted no more than that. 

Still, if he were to claim his prize, his jewel, his love, he must assume the position that had been so horribly marred all those many years ago. He must take his rightful place on the throne of men. Only then would their union be made real, and for that, Aragorn was determined to succeed. 

Nay, power was not what Aragorn sought. What he wished was the means to hold his beloved nearest him and never be forced to let go. And in order to obtain that, he needed to see the Ring destroyed. He could not think beyond that, for he knew their shared destiny was great and he put his trust in her vision and what the powers deemed their fate. 

All stray thoughts could be damned. His heart was with her. He would not be pushed from his course by the Ring toying with his brain. 

He turned back to the Fellowship as all gathered their gear. Evening was drawing near, and the night would be chill. He drew his cloak in tighter to his body as he rose, thinking of the road ahead as they traveled. Gathering the last of his implements, he cinched his belt to his waist and swung his pack over his shoulder. It was time to forge ahead. 

He pushed all thoughts from his mind and marched to the center of the group. Wallowing in this longing would only make his mission that much more painful. Just as he always did, he tucked his secret aches into the deepest places in his heart and he focused his mind narrowly on what the road brought before them. He could gain nothing by looking back or wishing for something more than what had been doled him. And so he set out, ordering the group to move forward and on.

  
  
***  
  
  
There seemed to be something amiss as they traveled that night, and after a time of pondering it, Aragorn realized the music was not with them. There was always a melody in some form following their steps, and Legolas, who usually took the rear guard in their company, was the one who oft provided it. After just these few days of travel, it seemed odd to be without the song. Aragorn felt it indicative of a mood gone deeper. Recalling his own strange condition earlier that day, he fell back, letting the others pass him that he might check on his comrade's state. He wondered, as they went on, if any missed the music as he did.

The elf did not notice him standing aside at first, and this too proved at odds with what Aragorn knew. Elves were known for their incredible senses, and Legolas should have been entirely aware of his proximity as they were marching. It was strange to see 

Legolas so distracted, for it was uncharacteristic to find his friend in deep contemplation. Merriment was more often at the beckoning will of the elf prince, and Aragorn had little experience seeing the fair creature in a state of sober thought. Yet here he was, marching in the last position of the group, gazing outward into the distant horizon, only not looking, not seeing, staring at something within. 

Aragorn approached the lone elf, and Legolas became startled as he realized the man's near presence. The elf must have suspected Aragorn's thoughts for his demeanor grew apologetic. "You need not linger, Aragorn. I shall not let harm get past me."

Matching his friend's stride, Aragorn nodded. He could accept the claim, for he knew Legolas' abilities, and he was aware the elf would not let them down. But he also was resistant to leave without speaking to the archer first. He was keen on knowing Legolas' mood, just as he would be for any of the Fellowship if he had found them at odds with what he knew. It was the responsibility of a healer to tend to their souls as well as their bodies and so he delayed his parting that he might probe the elf's change in disposition. 

"I do not doubt your skills, my friend, but I can see something weighs on you," he said. He knew not if Legolas had expected him to remove himself, but his friend appeared wary with the words. Watching him, Aragorn could see the elf's face was stoic and drawn, and Aragorn felt the solemnity proved him right in his worry. He offered then, "I am here to listen, if you would have me."

Again Aragorn glanced at the elf, and after what seemed a grim nod, he saw a weak smile come to Legolas' lips. His own mouth drew up into a grin when he heard the words that came. "I knew you would say that," Legolas murmured in drawled voice, as if to tease, but then the severe reserve returned and the elf said with a simple bow of his head, "But I think my thoughts are best left as my own, Aragorn."

So there _was_ something of bother to the elf. Aragorn knew he could not let that small admission slip so easily. The elf's mood must be heavily affected, and so he encouraged the other by saying, "The road ahead will most certainly grow dark. Should our thoughts match that, it would be better to speak on them while we might still see." 

A long minute passed without any response, but Aragorn could read the schooled countenance of his friend. To him, Legolas appeared to almost suffer pain with his considerations. At last he spoke in a careful voice, as if weighing his words, "Have you ever traveled in the southern portions of the Mirkwood, Aragorn?"

Aragorn furrowed his brow. For a moment, it seemed strange that Legolas would answer him so. He wondered what the question might have to do with his offer to hear his friend's worries. But then he recalled past journeys on that trail and realized the point that was being made. Indeed he had been to the dark regions of the wood, and he knew what mood the elf meant to convey. Involuntarily, he shuddered. Even now, the man could remember the oppressive sense of wariness he had felt in that forest, as if he were constantly being watched, and that there were a presence bearing down on him. He affirmed his answer with a nod, feeling that he need not speak more on it.

"Then you would know what lives in my mind," Legolas replied. "I feel that now. Only I fear it is the Ring which brings me this oppression."

"The Ring?" Aragorn asked, his voice coming up in alarm. The words sounded terribly loud to his ears and he glanced about nervously, gladdened that none had heard him or turned when he had spoken. 

In sharp contrast, Legolas' voice became a whisper, and he slowed his steps as he turned to face the man. "I feel It has been toying with me," he admitted in a secretive hush. His eyes appeared honest and hurting.

  
Aragorn felt jarred. The elf's pleading expression drew an ache to his heart. The man searched himself to find an answer to the elf's broken cry, silent though it was and the revelation was quite startling. That the Ring's prying hurt the elf as it did was a rending blow. It proved Aragorn was not alone in the Ring's taunt, but further it proved that Legolas was not an equal to willing It off. That worried him. What if the Ring found this to be a weakness among them? He felt his lips twitch, his brow creasing into a frown. That weight lay heavy in his gut. "Tell me of it," he urged, taking the elf's forearm and pulling him aside. He would know how the elf's worries were manifested.

Legolas' eyes grew distant, almost tearful. It took him a moment before he could speak, and he appeared to hesitate before ever doing so. "It makes me look with eyes not normally mine," the elf answered with no emotion, but Aragorn knew Legolas was struggling to maintain his composure. "It makes me feel uncertain of myself and the others among us, and it whispers to me of deceit and desires I normally would not know." 

Aragorn's heart skipped a beat and he thought he might choke. These were the same feelings and battles he had been fighting. But Aragorn had pushed those taunts aside, making them out to be but minor annoyances, where the elf had not done so. He drew himself up, finding his own strength and willing it almost inwardly upon the elf. He would give Legolas his stamina if he could. "Yet you resist It, Legolas," Aragorn replied, using the words as a bolster to assure both the elf _and_ him that it could be done. "Tell me that you resist It!" The demand was rather brutal, but he felt at the moment the elf needed this encouragement to come hard.

"I know it is a lie," Legolas stated authoritatively, curling his lip in a sneer as he lifted his chin. His eyes gleamed with the checked anger and prideful tears.

Aragorn gazed at the elf then and saw the mettle of the Legolas' courage. Provoked by the Ring as he was, his friend simultaneously appeared so sure and so powerful. It seemed at odds to the confessed difficulties the elf had just revealed and again Aragorn's vision of Legolas in a state of perfection returned. Guardedly, he decided then that there was no reason to let on to the elf his own troubled thoughts. They would only serve to add worry. _To each his own task,_ Aragorn thought. _That is burden enough_, though he knew he was taking the greater of it by keeping his troubles to himself.

And then in order to strengthen the elf's resolve, he laid a hand upon his friend's shoulder and asked in the way of a comrade, "Why did you come on this journey, Legolas?"

This time it was the elf that seemed startled by the oddity of the query. He stared hard at the man as he considered it, and with a perplexed shake of his head he spoke as if there were no other answer. "My home is in jeopardy. I feel I must do something."

Aragorn understood the reply. Long years had the Silvan folk fought off the menace that lived in Dol Goldur, all with no real hope of vanquishing those who resided in the gruesome tower. Over the course of many centuries time, there could be little doubt that the elves were slowly losing the battle. Though Legolas and his kin fought head to head with the menace, it seemed apparent that the power in their forest was derived from another source. There was no weakening the thing that had planted itself there. Like a deep-rooted weed, no matter how hard they tried to pry it out, it always grew back, resilient even to the pervasive good the elves had delved to the north. And worse, the tower laid seed, spreading its wicked spores into the earth and poisoning what was pure around it. It was time, Aragorn reasoned, that another tactic be utilized, and he could see now how Legolas felt he fit that role and reasoning. A merry face he might have worn for the sake of the others before him, but in truth Legolas was a fearsome warrior and he had drawn the logical conclusion for why he might accompany them on this journey. He would see the source of the dark power invading his home destroyed. 

"Then you must remember your cause, Legolas. You have better reason than any that the Ring can contrive. Hold to that," Aragorn said bravely, stating a complex concept with simplicity. But he knew that Legolas would understand. He gave the elf's shoulder a gentle squeeze. It meant as much as an embrace, and he knew the archer perceived it. "I believe in you, Legolas," the man said, breaking through the edgy front to offer the kindest words he could think to give. 

Legolas blinked then seeming truly perplexed by the sincere show of compassion. "But you do not know me." 

That in turn caused Aragorn to blink, and then to burst into laughter. He had to concede this was likely true, at least in the eyes of an elf, and the thought struck him as funny. For their short time -- it was a decade by the man's counting -- they had only in the last few years grown closer. Gentle was their friendship, like the new leaves on a tree, but this Quest drew them even nearer, and Aragorn saw it as a way to harden off their more tender trepidations. Still, Aragorn understood, smiling at the wariness Legolas had for this familiarity. He knew well the anxious apprehension almost all elves had at giving themselves over to mortal friendships. But despite their few years of closeness, Aragorn felt sure he had seen enough that he could judge soundly the merit of the elf. Legolas was different, more accepting than other elves. He was exceptional in his willingness to be of open mind, his thoughts were unblemished by preconceived thoughts or prejudice. Further, Legolas seemed to truly believe in _him. _There was no reason Aragorn might not return the sentiment.

The elf appeared nonplussed by the laughter, but then seemed to understand the mortal penchant. He dropped his tensions, and Aragorn appreciated that, for he did not wish to appear as if he were forcing himself on the elf. Still laughing in order to lighten the stiff moment, Aragorn said, "I know you, Legolas. Truly, I do. And I know you will persevere. The Ring may speak thoughts into your mind, but I know you will come out well. I can see that in you," and Aragorn thought he could indeed see it. He need not say it of himself, for it was unnecessary that he reveal his small torments, but the exact truth applied to his battle with the Ring as well. Goodness resided in them both, and he chose to see that as a means to get them through that device's wicked teasing. "I believe in you," he completed, smiling warmly and laying down deeper roots on his side of their friendship. 

Legolas' own smile was faint, his thoughts hidden, but it seemed as if he were allowing this much in as a concession to the man's open approval. He nodded, as if in agreement. He then turned his eyes to the distance again and returned to their path while Aragorn followed.

A quiet peace fell between them then, and long moments passed with only their footfalls, the wind whispering and the occasional far-off cry of a hunting hawk to break the silence. And then after a tentative time, Legolas began to hum a soft tune.

Aragorn knew the song, having grown up surrounded by such music, and his mouth began reciting the words before he even had time to think. But then he faltered, for he realized he had begun in the Quenyan form before the other had even begun the words, and that was wholly wrong. In elven fashion, it was considered unmannerly to have done so, for he was in essence stealing the music and putting words of his own, or in this case a higher, haughtier tongue, to it. 

He cringed at the mistake for the error was an insult, like a slap in the face, to Legolas. More clearly, it was as if Aragorn were pointing out Legolas' lesser status among the elf races. Normally, the saving grace would be to note that the mistake came from a man, but Aragorn was not an ordinary mortal. Here it could be seen as a mocking reminder of Aragorn's presumed place among his own race, making the elf seem all that much lowlier for the tongue the Mirkwood elf spoke as opposed to the one used by the man. And in a way it was true, for having resided solely in the Silvan wood all his life, Legolas likely only knew the song in its _Sindarin_ form. 

But to his surprise, Legolas joined him, and he did so in _Quenyan_. Gentle and kind, the act showed Legolas' immediate forgiveness for the error in the man's clumsy grace and how he could see beyond the man's flaws. The elf reached into the heart of the matter, and Aragorn could see that Legolas knew no harm had been intended. In fact, it seemed to Aragorn that the willingness to accept the song in a greater tongue was a gesture on the elf's part, a means to show he could overlook the small pettiness that could divide peoples entirely, and to establish his own deeper roots into their friendship. It demonstrated incredible grace on his friend's part and Aragorn could not help but be grateful for that.

The fair elf's accent in Quenyan was much more inflected than his, but it was lovely just the same, and Aragorn was moved. The song became a tender sign of friendship as they sang it together, their voices blossoming in the union. The light baritone and low tenor intertwined. But then came the refrain and Aragorn let the elf complete the tune, changing the words into Sindarin as he would choose. He was pleased by the complement of the elf's voice, and especially by their tandem use of language. It felt, with Legolas, as if they fit together well, this experiment into a tentative voice, and he marveled at how the elf made their joined song feel so natural and easy. It seemed so intimate, like a touch that had gone astray but been welcomed nonetheless. And here too, he thought how nice it was to hear music again, for it felt as a cure in a way. And he knew the others likely enjoyed it as much as he did, because it was always a joy to hear Legolas sing.

  
  
****  
  
  
It was eight days into their journey when Aragorn came upon the patch of growing _galenolas_. The Ranger was surprised when he discovered it, for it was exceptionally rare, and seldom had he come across it in any of his travels. Further, it was late in the year and he did not think anything flourished in the cooler climates where they traveled. Yet here it was, growing abundantly. At first he thought not to pluck any of the foliage of the round-leafed plant, for he was fully stocked on herbs and healing medicines in his kit. But as they continued their journey, and the plant's occurrence seemed to proliferate with their southern travels, he decided it might do little harm if he were to pluck a small amount. It would weigh nothing, and he knew such an opportunity to gather the medically valuable plant might not come again. He knew not what lay ahead and he felt it better to be prepared if he could.

Hesitantly he took a small sampling. He was surprised by how deeply entrenched the plant was in the earth; its roots ran deep and seemed to spread rampantly. But in truth his mind was on other things. Specifically, he was making note to himself that he would need to be careful in keeping this herb. 

Those that could wield it in its full uses were few between, and they often traveled in dark circles. The plant had a lurid history, much of which Aragorn had heard only when he had passed through the company of men. Never had it been mentioned among the elves, which was strange because elves had far better knowledge of herblore than any of the races Aragorn had encountered. Stranger still, when he had asked Lord Elrond of it, he had been admonished like a child uttering vulgarities. It was only after careful questioning that the reluctant elven healer had eventually conceded the Dunedan's right to learn and taught him the proper use of the herb.

At first Aragorn could not understand his foster father's reluctance in regards to this plant. He came to see that _galenolas_ could be an effective pain reliever. In fact, it was far better than any other herb that Aragorn kept in his Healer's kit. When applied topically, the fresh leaves could anesthetize, and it was easy to concoct. And when ingested, it could be very successful in treating the deeper pains of injury. This was a great aid in treating the hurts of elves, for they were known to have high tolerances to most mortal remedies. With other herbs, the amounts needed to quell the pain of an elf would normally kill a man. But _galenolas_ could be used in modest amounts. 

And the same was absolutely true for mortals, with the only difference being that the dried form must be used there. That was key, incredibly important, and such was the thought in Aragorn's mind as he carefully plucked the leaves of the fresh plant.

This he knew: when used in opposing application to what he had been taught proper -- dried leaves to elves, fresh leaves to men -- the properties changed for the user. He was told the herb could have a sedating effect when utilized in this way though he had no first hand knowledge. Lord Elrond forbade such use and would not elaborate on his teaching to give greater knowledge on how to harness that effect. Aragorn was thereby forced to rely upon what he had heard in the dark halls of men. Sleep induction was all of the true effects that he knew and even this information was hazy. 

Still, he had heard what was said. Secretively he had been told that if fashioned correctly, dosed a certain way, or administered with heat or cold, the herb could draw out a variety of latent qualities in those dosed, and dark menace seemed to hover over those hushed confidences. Such knowledge was abhorrent, and Aragorn did not bother to ask of those potions, nor was he told. Such mysteries were kept well guarded. But he did know that in all cases of use the reversed application rendered its user into a languid state of sleep and that was the only knowledge he attempted to learn. Still, Aragorn could see how the drawing of latent traits made the plant dangerous to use. In the wrong hands, it could be abused. 

Thus, Aragorn respected his elven father's wishes and had vowed to use _galenolas_ only when absolutely necessary. He catalogued the information as he refreshed his mind on it, knowing the leaves he was plucking, as they came to dry, could only be safe if he gave them to the mortal members of the Fellowship. This was easy enough to remember, as there were only two immortals among them. He would be certain neither of them were administered anything of the leaf, dry or fresh. There was no need to put them, remote as it was, into harm's way.

These were his thoughts and they were honorable. But the roots to a man's soul may run deep, and often they are not unearthed with simple honor. Little did Aragorn know that even the best of intentions could be manipulated into devious purposes. 

  
  
TBC  
  
  
  
_A/N:_ Until next time, _*cough review button cough*_ thank you for reading. 


	2. The Shifting Wind

**_A/N_**_:_ My thanks again to Lamiel and Elf Lady for betaing.

**Heart of the Dream**  
_by Ithilien_

**Chapter 2: The Shifting Wind**

The ache in his head was excruciating. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to push it away, but that only served to make his awareness of his surroundings all the more keen.

The thin air was frigid and still, making his lungs feel the sensation of his stinging shortness of breath. Opening his grey eyes, he saw that craggy rocks and wisps of dry grass, made brittle by the winter air, littered the ground about him. He did not wish to look up past his feet, for he knew his eyes would only sight more of the same desolate scene. He was not certain he could find anything to bring him joy here, for the spare environment and dry, listless air served only to evince brooding emotions in him. This journey was an interminable thing. It seemed it might never end, and to his deep chagrin, he knew they were only nine days into it.

_I must find ease,_ Aragorn told himself as he attempted to bite back his foul mood. _I serve no one if I grow mired in these miseries_. Yet his mood was grizzly despite his attempt to right it. Being surrounded by the Company brought him no comfort, and he felt as wary as a hunting cat. He would just as soon scowl and slash out in his anger than respond in any kindly way.

And there was the air. . . such still, still air. It was frightening almost, how it stood so close around them, like a barricade, a wall. Suffocating is how it felt. Days before it had come at them in great gusts, pushing them as if by a will of its own. But for this day it was unmoving. It sapped his strength and made it all the harder to breathe.

He hated this, the short gulps he was forced to live on in this wretched climate. His body was shaky with the fatigue it caused. He could feel his teeth grinding in his jaw with the slow movements of muscles made taut from tension. He was weary and his head pounded incessantly. Every muscle hurt, and his fingers felt cramped. He had led the way up these rising ridges through tenuous handholds placed on the boulders before them, and much of the journey had been with one Hobbit or another being pulled or carried with him. But now they had come to a place that seemed ideal for a camp and all they awaited was word that it would be secure and deemed well.

The waiting for that word is what crowned his displeasure.

Wrong turns and backtracked steps had made the day exceedingly long. The realization that a sizeable ration of food had been carelessly left behind at their prior day's camp did nothing to boost his grim spirits. And then the incessant chatter of Pippin, endlessly echoing in the still canyons around them, despite Aragorn's wary admonishments, had only served to grate on his nerves further. That his head ached in a throbbing pain only added to his misery. And now they faced this wait.

All knew elves were a patient lot, but when one depended on an elf for a pronouncement among a weary group, such patience just served to vex. As habit had become a part of their routine, the pronouncement of their safety always came from Legolas, for with eyes and ears so much keener than any man's, he was the better among them to know of their safety in these exposed places. If Legolas spoke his wariness, they believed him.

And that was that. So here they stood on a high pass in the Hithaeglir waiting for their elven companion, who was poised on a small rock formation, to tell them that all was well and they could rest. Yet, at the moment, no such proclamation came.

The party fanned out, finding ease where they might among the rocks and shrubs, without getting too comfortable. Aragorn stood in as much of a resting pose as he could muster without collapsing, one leg locked upright with the other leaning into the uphill slope. He closed his eyes as he ran calloused fingers through his hair, pushing away the errant strands that fell into his face and thinking of the tea he would make to suppress the pounding in his head.

He actually sighed in relief when the blinding sun dipped behind a heavy gray cloud. More grays followed behind, the plumes of the dust-colored tufts quickly rolling over each other, and that seemed strange compared to the stillness around them. Yet Aragorn could tell just by looking at the sky that a withering wind would soon come upon them, a great turn in the clime. He hoped that by then he might be asleep and not so aware of the change in the weather. _Yet we shall feel the full effects of it if Legolas delays us much longer!_

And as much as he was eased by the duller light for the pain in his head, here too, the contrast of sun, then chill, only seemed to emphasize the hot and cold fluctuations his body was experiencing. He found himself shaking, sickened by the sensations and he knew ultimately rest would help him regain his physical composure. He did not appreciate being made to wait for it.

If there was any solace to be found in Aragorn's mood it was this. The ire and unease he felt appeared not to be his alone. Ill tempers seemed prevalent among many in the party. He scanned their faces. Scorn was among them. It was in Merry and Pippin. It was in Boromir and Gimli. The dwarf was being especially vocal in his petulant gripes this day. He stared now at Legolas, grousing loudly.

"We are done marching, Elf, in case you have not noticed!"

Legolas only frowned in response, narrowing his eyes in the quick glance he cast toward the dwarf before he hopped another few steps away to a higher perch and looked back over the rigorous landscape.

Typically one or another of them would have admonished Gimli right there for his brusqueness. All appeared to adore Legolas, though Gimli too, was highly regarded, and none seemed to enjoy hearing any kind of disparaging remarks between them. However, on this day, so indicative was it of the group's dour disposition that none contradicted or argued with the dwarf.

"What does he wait for?" Pippin could be heard to comment to Merry in a whisper, though all that were near heard the words in the unmoving air. Their tempers were proof again of their collective agitation, and Aragorn vaguely wondered if there was more to the outward signs of hostility than he might have noted.

But his thought was drawn away as a kindly voice spoke. "Do you sense something, Legolas?" It was Gandalf who asked this. Aragorn turned to stare at the wizard. He was amazed at the gentleness in the old Istar's voice. It was calm, and it seemed as if it were outside their environment, spoken from a place less severe. It contrasted vastly with the exasperation that writhed within Aragorn. Without even consciously meaning to, he rolled his eyes in frustration and sighed loudly.

But then he caught himself and urged himself again to find peace. Shrugging his shoulders and turning his head away for the moment, he bit on the inside of his cheek as he tried to muster some semblance to match the wizard's calm.

Still the elf did not speak. Instead he turned his eyes upon Gandalf, taking a step forward, as if sending an unspoken message there. To Aragorn, the glance felt like something passed in a covert union, the type of knowing look one gives to an accomplice, and the man's wariness grew keener with his notice. He did not like the idea of being excluded from whatever agenda was between them.

And then Gimli chimed in again, interrupting their silent conferring. His voice was louder and his mood was most definitely abrupt. "Your plucked nervousness sets me on edge. Give us your pronouncement, Elf!"

Aragorn knew he should have said something to the callousness of those words, but he also had to admit that he thought much the same. He was tired and hungry and wished most to sleep. The medicinal tea to ease his head and a smoke would do him well, as would the ease to his legs and back. He looked forward to all of those for he knew he had no watch-duty this day. But now the waiting was interminable and the man's patience was running out. He felt like shouting his angry derision for the elf's seeming discourtesy to their need and comforts.

Aragorn looked at Frodo then. He knew what he would see there. The young Hobbit was pale with exhaustion, and he sat tensely in waiting. Aragorn did not think the small being could expend any more. And then his eyes went to Legolas. Did the elf even notice Frodo's fatigue? The man felt sure he did not and he scowled in resentment. Surely by now the elf realized that danger was about them always in this journey, and they would inevitably be exposed no matter where they chose their camp; be it this ridge, the coming dale, or the ridge after that, it mattered not. At least here there were shrubs where they might camouflage themselves. What more did the elf think they might conjure? With another glance at his small and beleaguered companion, Aragorn found he could contain his feelings no more, telling himself that what he did next, he did on Frodo's behalf.

"It is safe!" he snarled.

His voice was sharp and loud and all eyes came to look at him then. All of them gaped in quiet shock. Never had they heard him counter the elf before. His words almost seemed to be a challenge, and they gawked as if uncertain with whom they should align themselves. Silence echoed around them on the windless crest.

And then Boromir dropped his pack. With the dull _thud_ of it landing in rock, it stirred the others. Hesitantly they looked about, and it appeared some made ready to unloose their own packs, while others turned their eyes again to Legolas. Unwittingly it seemed a division had been created, and though Boromir's small movement seemed telling, none -- not even Gimli -- was willing to go further in declaring his allegiance.

The elf then turned his darting gaze. Patiently he scrutinized the Ranger, and Aragorn found his jaw tightening in response. But then Legolas nodded and quietly turned away.

And that was it. It was over. All followed it as if their eyes were fixed only on the elf, and a murmur came up from the clustered group of Hobbits as they set about their tasks. They seemed suddenly changed in their scorn and Aragorn blinked in surprise at the quick shift in their mood. Strange folk were Hobbits, he knew, but their ease came so fast. There was even laughter among them, as if they shared a good joke. And Gimli came join them while Boromir seemed to relax.

However, immediate calm was not Aragorn's to claim. Outwardly he was able to put his riled energies to use by breaking out the implements in his kit, but inside his temper smoldered.

He paused in his actions when, from the corner of his eye, he saw the elf leap from the stone plate on which he had been standing to draw up next to Gandalf. And then he too was up. Fingers of anger prodded him. For some inexplicable reason, he felt certain Legolas was speaking of something of a greater importance, something for which Aragorn should not be excluded. Perhaps it was their lagging steps for which he spoke, or the need to take further precautions of safety, or even an admonishment of Aragorn and the way he had usurped the elf's authority before the group. Aragorn would welcome any such a discussions, for he felt then that whatever it was that was said, he should know of it too. He was a leader in this party. He had the right to know.

The man's sense of justification was fortified as he stepped across the camp. He reasoned that resentment was becoming real among them, despite the show of mood now, and any ire felt was due to Legolas' actions. Looking back, he could see Legolas had not been thinking of them when they had been made to wait his proclamation, because he had no perspective from which to do so. He felt great disdain as he considered this. Elves did not easily fatigue. How could he know what it was to be exhausted to the point of collapse? And as he approached the conniving pair of maia and elf, he was determined to make Legolas see that he had to respect those weaker among them. If the elf thought to push them more, he would have to go through Aragorn to do it!

As he neared, he heard Gandalf saying in answer to some query, "Yes, I know of what you speak," and immediately Aragorn felt himself tense. Already they were in agreement and he felt as if he were approaching a unified foe. His hands clenched as he came before them.

"And what might it be that you know?" Aragorn snapped, nothing concealed in his peevish tone. "I ask, as the rest of us have not been granted privy to your discourse."

Legolas met the man with an inquisitive brow and the seemingly overt innocence only fed Aragorn's belief that the conversation was centered on something secretive and sly. But then the elf's gaze softened and he said in a low voice, as if including him in their small fellowship, "I have told Gandalf I feel the mood of the party changing."

For Aragorn, the show of inclusion was not enough. He did not heed the topic for he knew they conspired against him. He felt only his vexation. The corners of his mouth come up into a wry smile. Mockingly he replied, "Such is to be expected when exhaustion sets in. We _mortals_ are not gifted with the ability to tarry on endlessly."

But irritation lived in the elf as well, for his retort came swift. "I am not a child, Aragorn. I fully understand _mortal_ fatigue. Look to yourself if you will, and mark my words. I speak of something greater than simple humor or temper." There was an icy edge in his voice and Aragorn found the hairs on his neck standing up for the sound of it.

The wizard then spoke, including Aragorn in his gaze. "And your foul mood proves much to be true. Legolas senses that the Ring is seeking ways into the hearts of the Fellowship and I must concur."

Aragorn felt a shiver of trepidation work up his spine. He felt their scrutiny upon him and he saw his suspicions were real. "You accuse me," he stated, and as he said it, he realized Legolas' eyes were indeed turned on him. Aragorn's brow creased. Though Legolas appeared outwardly unemotional, he knew the elf was looking for evidence of the Ranger's failings with his stare. "I am weary. That is all," he tried to assure, working his voice to be stilled of his rage.

But the words masked his truer thoughts. He felt then like lashing out at the cool collectiveness of the archer. He wanted to hurt in some way. He wondered if the elf had been so bold as to mention the Ring's torment upon _himself_, and Aragorn considered breaking their trust and speaking of it now to the wizard. That might wash Legolas' aloofness away!

Words broke into his thoughts. "It might be any of us," Gandalf was saying. "As to how, I cannot say. What voice the Ring might use is likely different to each of us. I can only say even I feel Its effect, and of late I have found myself made open to Its charms."

Aragorn abruptly turned and gaped at the old man. Those words loomed loud in his ears.

"You? Gandalf?" he gasped. He could feel his heart beating and his stomach twisting. He thought he might choke from the shock that kept him from inhaling and it suddenly struck him then exactly the dire point of what the two had been saying. The Ring was trying to alter them! It was working through the entirety of the group. He could hardly believe the words, while simultaneously he felt his failure. He had not noticed anything to be astray in the wizard's actions, let alone that of the others -- not truly -- and he wondered then at the subtle and insipid way the Ring might ply any one of them. Cursing himself, he realized that though he had felt the taunt of the Ring those many days past, he had felt he was well guarded against It, and so had put the notion of It doing more aside because he simply had seen no outward signs. He now came to realize it was not so unexpected that the Ring might stray beyond Legolas, or him. But to tempt Gandalf. . . ?

"Have no fears, Aragorn," the wizard said as if he could read Aragorn's thoughts. With a comforting smile he said, "I choose not to succumb. But we should all be made wary of it. You especially, for I would not doubt, given your place as the rightful heir, you would be one of the first It would try to seduce."

Aragorn drew in a shaky breath as he considered those words. The wizard continued. "It seeks to pull out the darker part of a soul, and it wants power to corrupt."

And here he came to see that there was truth in the wizard's words. _And_ the elf's perceptions. Considering how he had been twisted into guilty feelings just at the Ring's mention days before, he wondered if it might not be wiser to confess Its attempts, and to do so now, while he was standing at the point where confessions might be made?

But after a moment, he decided he should not, for such doings would expose him for his vulnerability and dishearten them all. _Tha_t he did not want. They needed encouragement, not signs of danger. He needed to act as a leader. Besides, he was already aware of the Ring's ploys, and he was certain, now knowing of It, that he could control It.

Deep down, he knew this to be a poor choice. This day had been a trial and he came to see it might have been made that way by the Ring. He knew he was already put under the wily attempts of the Ring, that even now it was trying him, but he could not bring himself to admit so much. A small, distant part of him felt disgust for this returned answer. Gandalf had confessed his weakness, as had Legolas. Why did he feel he was so above them in this? In his mind he argued that were it any other in the party that he knew to be thinking such thoughts, he might have decided they had gone mad. Such prideful arrogance was childish and dangerous.

But another part of him boldly countered. To confess was to appear cowardly. He would be exposing his brief vulnerability, a vulnerability the man had called into order. It was days old. Bringing up the topic would only escalate what had been a small thing, even then. And as for today, with his mood . . . If that was the Ring's doing, then he felt his temper and fury could be reined. The Ring still had not shown him anything he could not overrule with a diligent mind. _It had only been a small rage,_ he thought, considering the foulness that had claimed him only moments before.

And so he let that side of him win as he swallowed back his hesitations, calling them weaknesses in his mind. And then he spoke. "I have felt nothing." It was a swift lie.

But that falsehood was not left unaccounted, for Legolas spoke out in return. "Are you so sure? Your mood has been grim of late, Aragorn."

The man glared at the elf then, surprised at the blatancy of the query and he decided right there that this was no friend. Legolas' face was neutral, non-judging, but he saw past it. Though this fair, _perfect _one donned an expression of compassion, Aragorn was not fooled. He could find nothing of familiarity here. His ire rose with the question, just like the returned sun burning on his neck, and he recognized fear was at the heart of it. Did Legolas know the full truth? Did he know the Ring had tried him too? The elf's eyes gazed into him, and Aragorn decided by the weight of their persistence that Legolas knew nothing. He felt the elven stare working to penetrate him, but Aragorn would not back down. He matched the elf's gaze, determined not to let loose this real truth.

"I would see the Ring destroyed. Of that I am sure," Aragorn said calmly. It was the truth he spoke, but it was said more in the attempt to match the cool demeanor of the elf than to hold to his conviction. He continued to stare his challenge, even though his voice had denoted convincing calm.

Gandalf spoke, "All the same, you must be cautious, Aragorn. The Ring might try reaching you through any number of ways. It might tempt you with visions of power, or with a banishing fear of failure. It may coerce you into betraying your morality without your even realizing it,"

Aragorn all but snorted his rebut. "You make it sound as if I know not my heart, and I assure you that I do." His voice remained firm and there was nothing of fury in it. He congratulated himself for maintaining such a cool front and he hoped his gaze upon the elf made clear the point of his confidence.

But Aragorn's faith was shaken when the elf answered him. "And I would find surety in seeing you prove yourself." He heard challenge in Legolas' words and he found his heart racing with that charge. A shiver of excitement ran through him though he could not explain the thrill.

"Legolas," Gandalf said, kindly still. He put a hand to the elf's shoulder, "I know your worries, but you cannot dismiss your own part. The Ring tries to rouse you as well. You know this. Be cautious of your words."

So gentle was the sentiment that Aragorn nearly missed the significance of it. But a moment later, the words registered and he saw that the statement came as a small victory to him. He could have laughed aloud then. Legolas was suddenly suspect. The man felt strangely gleeful in that, happy to see the elf's front of exacting rightness fade.

But the thoughts of Legolas' humility were suddenly nullified as the elf dropped his gaze. Shame was visible in his features. His voice became humble and the man found himself moved. "I apologize, Aragorn. My words are uncalled for. You deserve my respect. Perhaps I only feel the effects of _fatigue_."

_Fatigue._ Aragorn's brow knotted. He saw the quip as a hurtful stab, jarring like the pain in his head, and a grimace of anger bent his face. He was about to cry out in his rage. _Do not mock me!_

And then Legolas looked at him, and he was suddenly disarmed. A soft wind blew. It was like a hand touching him to awake.

The elf gave him a simple smile. His expression was shy and warm. Legolas appeared to him gentle then, and kind. The man blinked at the suddenness of the change. He saw no signs of the cool hostility he had been seeing. Clear words came then. "Perhaps it is the Ring attempting to drive a wedge between us. I will not let it succeed, Aragorn. Please believe me, and forgive me."

The statement was moving and Aragorn found himself confused by the words. His eyes fixed on the elf. He felt so disoriented, and he needed something for his mind to hold onto. A breath of wind passed, and a stray hair danced at the elf's temple directing the man's eyes to those. Legolas was staring at him again and he was forced to look into the sapphire orbs. He realized then that he was immune to their scrutinizing effect. That seemed so very new. Refreshing. And there was emotion within them. They reminded him of something, of someone...

"Strider?"

The word wafted past him as he continued to stare. Tears filled his eyes. He felt relief. There was something so gratifying in that gaze, so unquestioningly accepting of him. The current of wind lifted him. Air filled his lungs. The invisible wall of fury that had been erected was no longer there.

The small voice called again and pulled him away from the compelling moment. It was Sam. He was speaking.

"Strider, sir? Might we make a fire for the meal? I think it might do Mister Frodo some good to eat something hot," the Hobbit asked.

Aragorn managed to turn his head, but the query seemed distant to his mind's reckoning.

Another small figure came up to them then. "Sam, no. Nothing for my sake," Frodo was saying and the Ranger looked at both of them, trying to regain his focus.

"Not just for you, Mister Frodo. I think it would do us _all_ some good to eat a warm meal," Sam earnestly replied to his master, then turned back to the Ranger. "What say you, Mister Strider?"

The wave of dizziness was lifted. Aragorn looked with a steady eye at the elf and realized all resentment was dropped. He did not wish to hold his anger. He wanted his friendship again.

And then he felt whole once more.

Legolas cocked his brow, directing him back to Sam. The elf's mouth turned up in a sardonic smile and it appeared there was a merry reply he might give if he were only prompted to use it.

Suddenly the man felt buoyed and his heart rose with the moment. That smile let him remember himself and he found lightness and mirth within. The aches of his body and the irritations in his mind were gone. He felt invigorated, light, as if a rope that had been holding him down had been cut loose; as if a smothering cloth had been removed from his face. Every word and action became clear to him and he realized how the elf wished to play this little game. He had to smile. The cure to this tension was so easy, and he knew that things could be good between them. _Still!_ They could read each other when they were not battling. In fact he knew it would be good for all in the group if he could lighten the rift that had formed. Had it formed? He could not discern if any of it had been real. Was there a contention between them in anyone else's mind but his?

He was confused and uncertain, only knowing that none seemed to notice his befuddlement. He knew nothing else he could do, and so he would keep up the pretense or else be thought mad. For the moment given, he would play.

He could barely catch his breath, but he carried the ruse. He turned to Legolas and screwed his face up, as if considering the Hobbit's request with serious thought. "I am not an authority in these areas. What say you, Legolas? Is it safe to build a fire?" The sarcasm was heavy in his words, and he almost laughed at the freedom they gave him from his former misery.

The elf took a glorious measure of time to answer. He exaggerated the scrutiny he put to the sky and earth. The humorous display was not lost on the Hobbits and both Sam and Frodo chuckled loudly as the elf pretended deep, serious contemplation. It was abundantly clear that Legolas was spoofing himself, and it made him seem that much more approachable. Why had not Aragorn seen it? At last the elf eased back and said with a gentle smile, "I sense no eyes upon us, Master Hobbits. Perhaps for the meal alone it would be safe." Sam smiled again, pleased by this answer, and so the two scurried away to see a campfire prepared, and also, Aragorn assumed, happy that there was nothing of darkness to sully the man and elf's comradeship.

The elf smiled and gave a warm pat to the man's back. Aragorn was shaking, but found his pleasure in recouping their friendship. So quickly did it come, like a wind carrying away a fog, and he rejoiced in his heart that the hostility was gone. He adored Legolas just then for his forgiveness, though in his mind he was confused as to what exactly had occurred. There was too much confusion brewing about, and all Aragorn could decipher was that he had been horribly antagonistic.

_What was my intent?_ he asked of himself.

He could not remember what had made him feel such vehemence. And that thought worried him.

_The Ring tries to beguile me, _he realized. And yet that consideration seemed to throw him into a state of confusion also.

_Could it be? _For the Ring was about power, and Aragorn had already determined he had no aptitude for such lures. He did not want the Ring. Still, it did not excuse his behavior, and he needed an answer for his actions. _Exhaustion._ That, and his close proximity with all in the Company was what had caused his wayward thoughts toward the elf. It had been a harsh day and he was not used to constant companionship. The Ring found a way to toy with him in this. Yes, that was it. Those factors were beginning to wear on him. That was his answer.

He watched asLegolas leaped silently down the side of the embankment. The laughter of the Hobbits seemed reason enough for the elf to feel he had been dismissed, and the wizard stepped away. _That is it? They are done?_ Aragorn looked quizzically around. It felt too easy. And then he watched the elf. The fair being's movements were noiseless as he passed. Not even the skitter of slipping rocks could be heard with his steps. For a moment Aragorn could not discern where the elf might be headed, and then an instant later it struck him. Legolas was off to scout the area to assure their security.

But had they not satisfied this worry already? Why would Legolas do so much as to discern their security when he had just agreed they were safe?

Minute anger pricked yet again just as a small gust of wind blew past him. The weather was shifting but some things remained unmoved.

And then another breeze blew, and on it he could hear whispering voices carried with the wind. They echoed around him, falling as the air dipped. He could discern their voiced displeasures. They were speaking of their disappointments in him. He could hear them mumbling about Legolas being the more noble, and what poor character Aragorn had shown.

A harsh gust, heavy with sand and tiny pebbles, struck him then. It stung. All had chosen! They did not want him!

He turned away, trying to find freedom from the wind when he realized whatever it was that seized him was not done. It was back, that wrath! Jealousy! Mistrust! Only this time Aragorn caught himself in the maelstrom of it, realizing just how far he had come in his emotional rejoinder. _I will not behave as It would have me!_

He felt dizzy, as if he had been turned in a vortex. His eyes tried to find an object on which to steady the world. It was the Ring! He could see that now. But why did It keep pushing him in this fashion? He could not understand the path. He fought against the whirling motion though the wind increased steadily. He would not take It from Frodo and though he had not been tested in that way, he was certain of that answer at least. Yet the wind still pushed him taking him in the direction of Legolas.

But he fought it! He would not let It win! He began to turn away from the path, and the wind seemed to give. Looking to where his steps had taken him, he realized how far he had been prodded. He found the message in that abhorrent. Why was he being forced into this emotional chaos? Why did the Ring want him to confront the elf?

And then something new, atwang of worry, passed over his heart. A sudden dread pierced him and an anxious thought echoed in his mind. It was a premonition. He suddenly saw it: Legolas falling, plummeting into an earthen pit and forever being lost to them. And more sure of anything was he of this. He _knew_ it to be true. A disaster was about to befall the elf, and it would happen if Legolas were allowed the freedom to scout. _I should not allow him to wander freely! Harm will come of this!_

The breeze blew again and he found himself moving with it. _I act only in warning,_ he told himself, finding excuse for his compulsion to seek out his friend.

In the core of his soul he tried to find assurances. He told himself it was the Ring taunting him again. There was no reason to doubt Legolas! Countless times had the elf done just this duty!

Yet his heart pounded in trepidation while the wind blew him on. The pain in his skull was revived. He could hear his heart beating clearly there along with the booming gusts of violent air ringing in his ears. He did not fight it, for his fears were as strong as the brewing storm. Vaguely did he remember leaving the camp, and he realized none seemed to notice his struggles or departure. He wondered then, _Can they not feel the wind's change?_

He tried to argue it in his head. He was not being reasonable. There was no cause for him to worry. But in that instant, as he followed the elf's path, eyes seeking ahead over the cliffs, he knew his heart had gone a step further than it should. He felt . . . concern. No, something greater than concern . . . There were feelings he had, feelings greater than simple worry. He stopped then, daring not to consider this further. The wind pursued him, but he did not heed it. _What am I doing?_ His brow furrowed in confusion as a gust pushed him again. He had no reason to pursue! _What am I doing?_

"You follow me, Aragorn."

The air was still.

Aragorn nearly drew his sword in his surprise, so caught off his guard was he at the voice and sudden silence and he whipped around to face the elf. "Legolas," he gasped, choking on the uttered word. He had nothing else he might say, for he truly had not thought ahead in this venture, let alone did he understand why he had come.

"You follow me," the elf repeated, and the Ranger found himself unable to do anything but stare. Legolas' eyes were ripping into him. Aragorn remembered then that their shade seemed to change with the elf's mood, and at the moment, the elf's eyes looked almost violet in color. He found himself wondering at what that might mean and then he realized Legolas was angry.

_Anger? For what reason,_ thought Aragorn. _Does he not understand my concerns?_ _He has no reason . . ._ Yet the thought fell away. Legolas had every right to feel annoyance. Tenfold Aragorn's senior, Legolas surely felt he needed no keeper. But Aragorn was not thinking clearly at the moment, and thus his mood shifted to match that of the elf without his wanting. Instead of confessing his worry and ultimate befuddlement, Aragorn grew angry. He felt in that moment as if he were being accused of something unseemly, but he also felt he could not reveal the real truth, though he could not discern why. Something told him to remain silent. Lashing out seemed the better response.

"You stray too far and too often, Legolas. What are you hiding in the wilds that you feel you must depart from the company?" Aragorn said with a stern voice though inside he was quaking in turmoil. Why could he just not confess the Ring's provocation? What was there that prevented him from admitting his weaknesses to the elf?

"Hiding? I hide nothing," Legolas answered, confusion dancing over his brow for a brief moment before shifting to an expression of consternation. A light wind caught his hair and blew the tendrils of it over his shoulder. "I merely sought to secure our camp."

"You might have told me as much. I am responsible for all in our party, and it does me no good if you continuously skulk off on your own," Aragorn said curtly.

Legolas' chin jerked a fraction of a measure. "I do not 'skulk'. I do as I have done since the day this Quest set out."

"Our environment grows darker and your disappearances are worrisome to me. It would appease me if you would stay nearer. I do not like being made to watch your back without good reason," Aragorn replied, sounding collected, though inside he wanted to melt away, knowing fully well he was wrong to scold the elf so. Had they not just brushed off something of a similar argument? Had they not just recovered from their earlier anger?

"I am quite capable of protecting myself, Aragorn, just as I am capable of protecting our Fellowship. Do not feel compelled to look after me." The elf's voice was sharp.

"You might be surprised by the dangers, Legolas. Please do not force me to admonish you when I ask you kindly to stay near," Aragorn answered. There was anger in his voice that he did not feel.

"I will continue my scouting now, Aragorn. You may admonish me if you so choose, but I will do as I see fit for the safety of our Company on this journey," Legolas said, and then began to turn.

"You should not defy me!" Aragorn warned, his nostrils flaring with the rage in his voice. Another gust of wind blew, underscoring the words. They could not be proscribed, and he was shaking under the puppetry evoked. He knew then that the Ring was controlling him completely, and he wanted only to be free of It.

Legolas turned, looking back at Aragorn. The wind blew his hair back. His ancient eyes again seemed to look through the man, and Aragorn pleaded silently for rescue. He was under the elf's scrutiny. Perhaps Legolas could see, truly see, what was conflicting the man's heart. The elf's chin jerked up in a challenge, those eyes narrowed slightly. In an even, unemotional voice, the elf spoke, and Aragorn knew not if Legolas was addressing him or the Ring. "What is it you want from me?" Legolas asked.

Calm, cool, controlled. There was no extreme in the articulation, nothing to give away the elf's thoughts and the wind died away. Aragorn's breath caught under the study of that gaze. It was intimidating, and breathtaking, and enthralling, all at once. It was sheer beauty to look upon and abject insecurity to feel. It was incredible and devastating all at once. It was desirable. , and the man could not help but find himself entranced by the elf's beauty. Legolas was _beautiful_. Long-legged and lithe in build, the golden-haired elf was grace in form and motion. His features were perfection in their splendor, and his eyes were luminous for their magnificent color.

Something took over in Aragorn, a sensation, unlike anything else he had felt before. A hard wind blew, stronger than any of those before it, and it pushed him forward. He relinquished to its urge. He was wanting and he burned, and he could not discern the originations of that want. It seemed to possess him entirely, and an ache reached into his nether regions, stirring his passions to life. So sudden was the mood. It was heady and unwieldy. It caused Aragorn's heart to beat a thunderous tempo so severe as to make him feel sick for the sudden attack. He rushed forward then, not even realizing it was his feet doing so, and he grabbed the elf. Though Legolas had seen him come forward, it was plain he knew not what the man might do. He took a step back, but not quickly enough and Aragorn had him in a fierce grip. He violently dug his fingers into the elf's shoulders, and before the elf could pull away, he pressed himself upon him, his mouth upon the elf's mouth in a bruising, violent kiss.

What he thought might come next, Aragorn could not say. He had had no plan. Like the steps to follow the elf, he had not known he would do this. It was no surprise then that Legolas fought him off, flinching away and struggling against the attack.

And just as suddenly, the feeling was gone. Gone. The desire. The violence. They were gone, and Aragorn was left standing, weak-legged, quaking, and gasping on a sob. The air was still yet again.

"Legolas . . . " he stammered. "I -- I am sorry."

The elf's hand reached up to those blood-rushed lips, his fair brow creased in confusion. The eyes dared not look at the man, and then a moment later the elf turned away. There was a tremor in the voice that spoke to him, but Aragorn could not discern if it was anger, fear, or distress that marked it. Too, the words were undefined. "What is your intention, Aragorn?"

"I . . . I have no intent," the man weakly confessed. "I know not why I did --?"

"Who holds your heart?" the elf asked abruptly, cutting him off.

"I do not --"

"Tell me! I would know!" Legolas demanded, and his voice rang out with raw anger.

"Arwen," the man whispered. "My love is for Arwen."

A long moment of silence followed. The elf did not turn. A wind picked the golden hair up in its breath and the tendrils of it danced around the figure's head as he stood against the horizon. Legolas' cape was drawn around him by the wind's tug, as if he were being embraced, but Aragorn thought he saw the elf shiver with the chill. At last, Legolas spoke. His voice almost sounded choked. "It is the Ring then that does this."

Aragorn dipped his head. He was grateful to be found, yet mortified as well.

The elf turned then to the man. His eyes glistened like stars. "You must fight it, Aragorn. Keep your love close. I know not why It might make you choose me in Its efforts, but you must fight off what compels you." Legolas broke his gaze, turning his eyes westward, toward the horizon. "And as you do this, so will I fight what compels me."

Now it was Aragorn's turn to find confusion in that of the other. "What do you mean?" His heart leapt, uncertain what defined those words. He touched Legolas' shoulder. But the elf said nothing, and so he repeated, " Legolas? Speak to me!"

The elf would not look at him, but instead spoke over his shoulder, quietly replying, "I merely try to keep us safe, my friend." And then he said no more. Legolas stepped away, and within a moment he was gone, leaving Aragorn alone with the echo of the elf's words drifting in his mind just as the gaining wind from the gray sky coldly wrapped around him.

_TBC_

****

****

****

****

****

**_A/N: _**Oh, goody! I have time to do Reviewer Responses. I love this part.

_JastaElf -_ I should have known you'd be the first one to review. And what a review! Thank you! I love that you picked up on the special wording. Symbolism and metaphors are my friends, and though I know not everyone gets them, there are those special folks out there who do. I think you are going to like this story. It's a mix of all the good things we love in a dark fic: angst; depravity; guilt; and confusion. I'll cut off a big wedge for you, okay? Would you like some hidden passions on the side? A little of the nasty on top?

_Sol 3 -_ Oh, I would love to put it up at Stories of Arda, but slash is verboden there, and I will respect that. I have cross-posted at AdultFanFiction.net if for some reason the story gets yanked from FanFiction.net. AND, I'm keeping a back up of my reviews, just in case. I truly hope it doesn't get pulled though. I've worked very hard to keep this within the guidelines of an R-rated story. Thank you for your concerns and your review!

_Lamiel -_ I loved creating the intricacies of Aragorn and Legolas' friendship too, and especially interweaving the plant symbolism into it. Not everything with deep roots is a bad thing, as this story will show. Aragorn and Legolas' roots are deeper than they look. They will realize that in the end, I think. And the power of elf eyes is important too. Thank you again for all your help on this story. I owe you so BIG.

_Qwe -_ I wish everything I wrote came out so well. Truth told, this story had a lot of behind-the-scenes scrutiny, so hopefully, the end-result is relatively clean of errors and will read with continued smoothness. I do know what you mean though, and I have the same standards when I'm the 'reader'. All I can say is thank Eru for beta-readers. They catch and fix so much. Thank you for reviewing!

_Anon -_ I hope this chapter keeps you with us still. I'm so nervous about this fic, as I'm hoping I can keep the readers coming back for more. Thanks for your review.

_Fliewatuet -_ Yay, Fliewatuet is back! Yes, the Ring is truly evil, and Aragorn is going to learn the hard way not to underestimate it, which he is terribly in the first chapter. After this chapter (Chapter Two, I mean), I think he'll come to see he needs to give it more respect and steer a wider berth. As for what is to come, go ahead, let your mind wander. Sometimes the best ideas come that way. We'll compare notes later. I'm so glad to have you here.

_Noone -_ Apparently, you don't know that the cliffhanger is an artform in my eye. I love dangling people over the edge, making them want the next installment. But I also understand that to leave them hanging there for a long time is just cruel. I can't be that mean. So please know installments will come relatively quickly. In the meantime, thanks for the review!

_Sadie -_ Thank you! And I'm enjoying that you are reading it. I'll try to keep the updates fairly quick and consistent. My best to you.

_Templa Otmena -_ I read a lot into Tolkien saying how resilient the Hobbits were, and in a way, this story is out to prove that. I think, when done, the respect we will have for Frodo will be doubled as we come to see how unrelenting the Ring is in its own search for power. Further, I hope we all will come to appreciate how defenseless Boromir was in succumbing to its call. I think this story will prove he had little choice and it makes what happened all the sadder really.

_Nienna Vala -_ Thank you so much for your very kind words. Many people find my style a bit daunting. My sentence structures are not easy to flow through, but that's just how I am. I like to stop and smell the flowers along the way. I hope you will continue to enjoy this story.

_Myra the Archer_ - Oh, I'm so happy to have you here and I hope you continue to enjoy this read. It's going to get ever darker, I promise you that. Desperate even. I hope that appeals to you. Thanks for reviewing.

_Elf Lady -_ Aw, shucks, thank you! I love to foreshadow the darkness to come. And this story does get dark. Very dark. The analogy of the plant and the hold of its roots is very suited to telling what will come next in this story. In fact, this plant tells many facets of the tale. It can be good, and it can be very, very evil. It can be harmless and helpful, and it can be abused to corrupt purposes. And their friendship will see the same twisting. Hee hee! I love symbols like this!

_Nightwing _- I knew you'd like the part about the eyes. Oh yes, in the books I most certainly saw Aragorn's uncertainty. The movie made him out to be a lot more sure of himself than I think Tolkien wrote him. He is, in the end, human, and overcoming what I'm leading up to will take superhuman strength. Even the elves are weak when it comes to the Ring of Power, as we shall see. This story is out to prove many things, the real strength in Aragorn to resist it being one of them. And the power of love to overlook our failures being another. But for now, the comparisons serve to create a wall, and yes, to build animosities. Sneaky Ring!

_Val -_ I hope this was soon enough for you. I will try to keep updates frequent, about a week apart, so you may look for this story with some consistency. Thank you for the very kind words.

_Hello! - Well_, the pairing is as you expect, so you have my permission to be happy ::grin::. No, it's not Gimli I refer to as being the other immortal but Gandalf (he is an Ishtar, meaning a servant of the Valar, and he has been about, when this story is told, for around two thousand years, so one can assume him to be immortal -- reference _Appendix B, Tale of the Years, The Third Age_, from "Return of the King"). Thank you for your kind words. Happy reading!

_Jenolas -_ What a delight to have you here and I'm glad you like the concept of the story. The subject has been gnawing at me for some time, just waiting to be written. Since, in essence, Tolkien's story is told from the perspective of the Hobbits (who, he tells us, are made of sterner stuff to be more impervious to the Ring's temptations), I thought it might be interesting to see how the other non-Hobbits deal with it. It is not an easy journey they are taking, to be sure, and in my view, what happened to Boromir was sadly inevitable. The Ring is not a trifle to be ignored, you see.

_Rozzan -_ My stalwart supporter! I'm so happy to see you here, and I'm delighted you are liking the story. I am also very flattered you find my writing to be an inspiration to your own. Gosh, can there be a better compliment than that? I very much hope, chapter for chapter, this story will not disappoint. As to what comes ahead, well you shall see soon enough. Just keep breathing, mellon nin. That's the trick, Gimli tells us (movie-verse). Keep breathing.

And so we close for the moment. Until next time, friends . . .

(Um, don't forget to review. Was that subtle? That wasn't subtle, was it?)


	3. The Nightmare Shroud

_A/N:_ I'm going to repeat what I said in the initial posting of this story.

**WARNING! The following story is rated R due to violence and SEXUAL content. This story will contain a MALE/MALE pairing (Aragorn/Legolas) and contains non-consensual sex acts. It is not pretty, and is DEFINITELY NOT FOR ANYONE UNDER THE AGE OF 17 TO READ WITHOUT THE CONSENT OF A GUARDIAN. **

Can I say more than that?

Yikes! Apparently, I can. I almost forgot to thank my beta-readers (especially after I was so mean about cracking the whip). Doh! My sincerest thanks to Lamiel and Elf Lady for reviewing this chapter before allowing me to put it out. I am extremely grateful to you both for your help with this story!

_  
  
_  
**Heart of the Dream**  
_by Ithilien_**Chapter Three: The Nightmare Shroud**

The wind did not calm as the day progressed. Much as Aragorn had expected, the sky went gray and the gusts picked up in strength. But camp life was not a thing to be suspended because of dismal weather. All were accustomed, or growing accustomed, to the more rugged climate their travel required. And so it was that the Fellowship settled in for their rest.

Still, despite his adaptability and experience, Aragorn had difficulty finding ease that day. He tossed about in helpless worry, pressed by the power of his most recent failing. His anger, fears and shame revealed to him just this day reared ugly, and belittling thoughts of worthlessness sang harshly in his ears. Though he told himself this was the Ring trying to cut into him further, the fruition of his anxieties revealed themselves through heinous images in his mind. Feverishly he twisted and fought against them. But exhaustion would have its way. After a time, true sleep claimed him and he lapsed into dreams of a nightmarish quality.

The vision was laid before him, drawn by the torments of the Ring. He found he was back on the bluff, overlooking the grey skies and coming rise of Hollin just as he had earlier that morning. And just as in his wakefulness, he trembled as a strong, icy wind blew, only now it was different. Now, it was a great tempest current, bold and cruel.

It was a storm and the wind tangled his hair into knotted coils, whipping his eyes. Tiny particles of icy snow pelted him, assaulting his stinging skin and causing him blindness. His back was to the blustering storm as it beat against him, and so long as he stood just so, neither turning to the left nor the right, he was protected from its full assault. The wind embraced him in its cold arms, and his desperation of mood, carried from his wakeful hours, mimicked that grasp. Shame matched the hard crush of the frigid constriction. Fear and anxiety wrapped around him like ropes, taut and binding, holding him captive with the remembrance of his act against Legolas. He felt humility, even in the dream, and he found himself shivering in that chilly grip.

He shuddered in the blowing wind, and from behind, he could faintly hear the hollow sound of footsteps approaching. He knew that he should be wary of this, but somehow, in the dream, he was not. It felt like he had been expecting the one to approach, though he did not know who it was that did so. Briefly, as if remembering himself, he tried to turn. But the wind whipped him hard, like a cruel lashing, and he could not twist about to see who might be there.

And then that other touched him, two hands upon his shoulders, gentle and soothing, and an instant later he realized he was being wrapped in a new mantle. A cloak, dark and warm was donned about him. It felt heavy and thick, secure and noble. This felt quite right in his dream-laden world, and he found himself buoyed by the completeness of his feelings. He was compelled to laugh then, for suddenly he was free of his chill and former dread.

He looked upon the marvelous robe draping his shoulders. It was sable trimmed with a rich lining of velvety blackness. The black cape billowed around him and the folds swooped and churned with dancing patterns in the wind. He felt invincible having it upon his shoulders, kingly and certain of himself. His earlier shame fell away.

And then, as before, a feeling of rightness came. The other, in an elegant move, came to be at his side, and he was heartened to know he need not be alone. With the one who had shrouded him, innately he knew there was nothing he might fear ever again. He knew whom it was that stood beside him and he felt sudden ease with her there.

And then that other's chilled fingers slid between his, and he gentled them into the heat of his hand.

"I love you," he said. He could not see her, but he knew the loving gesture was Arwen's. Caressing the elegant, smooth hand in his own, he tucked it into the folds of his cape.

His love leaned in closer, an arm sweeping into his garment and around to his waist. It was an affirmation and it felt a comfort to be held so. There was affection in the gesture. Her voice was at his ear, and it sounded of music. "I believe in you, Aragorn," he clearly heard her say. It gladdened him. With Arwen at his side, he could overcome all his failures. Her support was a lifeline to him.

He loved her. He loved her. He was carried adrift in that thought and so he knew then he would show it. The wind's brutal lashing was nothing just then, not when the desire to convey to her his love was the greater of him. He would suffer the wind's assault that he might kiss her. Even protected in the cape, the weather still hurt, but he did not care so long as he might hold her to him as reward.

He turned in toward a blast of icy wind. His skin was pelted with bits of blistering snow, and his eyes were momentarily blinded by the screaming torrent of air. He could not see. His eyes were teary and blurred as he looked. "Arwen," he murmured knowing that if blindness were the price of holding her to him, he would happily suffer.

However, his suffering was greater than he might have considered and immediately his heart lurched as he gained full view of her. He suddenly felt sickened. "Arwen?" he queried in his rising panic, but she was not there.

He had expected to see flying tendrils of dark hair haloing her delicate face, but instead what he saw was a mane of gold and ice blue eyes. Arwen did not stand before him. Legolas did.

"No!" he said stumbling back in confusion. The earlier shame was remembered. Legolas was the last one he wanted to find.

_What is this ruse?_ He knew the timbre of her voice. He had heard _her_ speak. "No," he said again, dropping the elf's hand as he stepped further away. He wanted Arwen! Was she not here somewhere? He needed Arwen!

But the look on Legolas' face stopped him from flight. He saw a horror weighing upon the elf and he felt sudden fear as he took that in. There was sickness here. Death. Legolas was dying. He was cast in a cool light with lips tinted blue and eyes dim. Tears filled the pale orbs giving the only real clue that life was still in the body. In the gaze there was a plea. The elf trembled before the man and Aragorn recovered himself enough to brusquely ask, "What is it? What do you want?"

It took a moment for the answer to come as the wind screamed in his ear. But then the elf spoke and the man felt broken by the word. "You," Legolas whispered.

"No!" Aragorn said as he backed further away. He knew not what else he might say. He only knew this was wrong. His eyes fought the wind as he searched the frenetic storm. _Where is Arwen?_ He tried to make more distance between himself and the elf, but found he could go no further for he stood on the edge of a precipice. He wanted Arwen there to bolster him. He needed her support.

"Do not flee me, Aragorn," Legolas gasped. "Please . . . I need you. I -- I believe in you." The elf's skin was sickly in hue and his eyes were beseeching. He held out his arms, palms up, as if he were surrendering himself. Aragorn found himself torn with pity by the sight. But he could not move. The elf shivered, hunching forward with a sob, and Aragorn stood mute. He could see that the elf was freezing in this unbearable wind, but he dared not act. There was a dread feeling in his gut and something told him that to respond would be to take a forbidden road.

"I cannot --" he exclaimed as he pushed Legolas aside and stepped around the elf prince.

Yet he warred with his thoughts. Under the cloak he felt warm. How could he not relinquish some of his heat to the elf? And looking again, his friend was so seemingly defenseless and weak. His heart felt wretched sorrow for disallowing his compassion. Legolas appeared on the verge of collapse.

What was wrong with him that he would refuse a friend?

A soft whisper spoken on the fringe of a trembled breath made him look at the other. Legolas murmured his words, staggered thoughts really, and the man felt his resolve wavering under the pity he felt. "Please, Aragorn. I am so cold." It was a plaintive moan. "C-c-can you not warm -- warm to me?"

The wind seemed less an obstacle now, and he knew not its direction, only feeling it whisking around him without hindering him. The folds of his cape moved with it, and he marveled at them, knowing, if he chose it, there was room within that he might hold and warm the frigid body. But how might that be seen? It was wrong. It was wrong somehow, though for survival, could he not find it right?

Lips tinted in blue spoke. "Warm to me . . . warm to me," the elf repeated in an oddly forlorn sound, his eyes drooping lazily as if said in a drowse. But his voice was a lost breath, and in the next moment the elf sagged as if in a swoon, and without thinking, the man rushed forward and wrapped his arms about the elf, pulling Legolas into the cloak. He was surprised to find was how easily he could surrender to that which he had refused. He moved his arms to shroud the elf within the folds of fabric and he held Legolas upright in his arms.

"Why do you do this to me?" he whispered as he propped the elf against him. Legolas' head dropped into Aragorn's chest and there was no answer.

"What of Arwen?" Aragorn asked next, trying to find something in his voice that might rouse the elf and make him understand Aragorn's shame for just this. But that ploy had another edge. _What of Arwen?_ he thought. He suddenly became aware that he had forgotten he had been previously seeking her out. Realizing yet another of his failings, he tried to disentangle himself from the elf, pulling his friend to his side, making the embrace that much less intimate.

Legolas looked up, and nodded appreciatively, tiredly. There was a slight moistening sheen on the lower lip. Though still cast in blue, a small smile played there, and Aragorn could not keep his eyes away. The fullness of the elf's lips mesmerized him. "I believe in you," the elf said, leaning his head again into the man's chest. There was something familiar in those words. He had heard them before. They were Arwen's words, but they did something to him. They stirred him. A sense of excitement passed over him. Flesh to flesh. It felt good to be holding the elf so.

They were wrapped in the dark shroud, and the brutality of the storm disappeared. Silence and the thumping sound of his heart made Aragorn realize just how fiercely it was racing. He felt something of protectiveness toward the huddled figure in his arms, and at the same time there was a feeling akin to yearning, to finding closeness even greater than this. He pulled the elf tighter to him, and he could feel the heat of his body passing into his friend. Absently he realized these were not feelings he might normally have considered, but like the adorning cape, they felt right in this world.

"Warm to me," the elf sighed. "Warm. Oh, so warm, Aragorn." Legolas' head rolled back again and breathy words came. "So warm," he said and it seemed that he almost moaned, making the utterance erotic and thrilling. Aragorn could see now that the color had returned to the elf's features, and as he gazed down, he found his eyes again drawn to the wet highlights that glistened on the elf's lips. Legolas' eyes shone with desire; longing gentled the fair one's features. And for Aragorn, all thoughts and words were lost. There was only desire. He bent in to touch his lips to the elf's, oblivious to everything but the sound of air moving around them. He cared no more for anything else. Tangled up within the great cloak, two figures twined together, and he gave himself over wholly to this cause.

Legolas' mouth was sweet to taste, and the playful tease of a tongue performed a small dance on his lips, hinting to him what a deeper, more passion-filled kiss might reveal. It was intoxicating. He was overwhelmed, keenly thrilled that this moment had come. He leaned back only so his eyes could feast upon the beauty before him. He could see the small nuances of the elf's face: the fluttered brush of long lashes, the high slope of fine cheekbones, the gentle pucker of lips gasping at the departure of his kiss. He was fascinated as he studied the lineless skin and the gentle curve of the cheeks. His fingers lifted and he stroked his thumb over the elf's brow and down the temple. The elf leaned into it, and Aragorn rejoiced at the wanton beauty in that motion. He could have spent hours exploring every facet of the elf's face and body, for this was a vantage he did not normally have.

Legolas looked at him then with eyes partly shuttered. At half-mast, they were dreamy and yearning. And then with a sigh, the elf closed his eyes entirely and leaned in for an even deeper kiss. The move caught Aragorn off guard, but he took it, moaning into those reaching lips. He was aroused by just this small contact.

As if reading his hunger, the elf suddenly regained his power and Legola's hands were roaming over the man's chest and body. "I want you, Aragorn." Legolas said. His voice was husky, and the sound of it sent a thrill of excitement into the man's body as the elf ran a smooth finger down his cheek. "So warm. Warm," the elf sighed seductively. "I want you. . ."

Everything else died away. There was no weather then. There was no cold. There was only Legolas, and nothing more was needed to fill the elf's statement. Aragorn knew what the elf wanted, for he wanted it too. His hands, hidden from sight, but not from his knowing mind, mapped out the elf's body from under the cloak. He felt his fingers roam over the flesh of the well-defined chest, trailing down to the heavily ridged torso, and on to the elegant curve of Legolas' back, lastly letting his palms slide over the rising flesh of the firm, muscular buttocks. With passion, he took the elf's lips to his own as he felt their bodies beneath the cloak come together in motions not unlike that of their seeking mouths. He felt as if he could consume the elf as his lips roamed over that smooth flesh. His breath quickened with the mounting desire and he found himself caught in the fervor of one devouring kiss while his body rocked in pressing rhythm to the elf.

But then a new strangeness came into the dream. A part of his mind screamed. _Stop this! Stop this now!_ And though it was his own inner voice that spoke, it was foreign to this scene, terribly absent in what had been building, and now it was harsh enough to make him heed the thought. Conflicted, Aragorn began to pull away, awash in sudden shame. "This is not right, Legolas," he could hear himself say.

"So warm. . . so warm. How long has it been that you have longed to taste my lips, Aragorn?" the elf whispered, pulling the man back into him.

"No," Aragorn protested, remembering himself now. He shook as he recalled the realities. "I desire only Arwen." He turned to try to find her again. Where was she? The cloak only hindered him from moving. It whipped against his body in the violent wind, coiling around the pair as if to join them together.

"Touch me," Legolas said, and with the words, Aragorn turned startled eyes back to the elf. His eyes met the archer's and somehow he found them looking into his soul. Legolas smiled, as if seeing the truth in Aragorn's heart, and the man winced, for everything that had been happening felt so right and true, and that in turn was _wrong_.

"Please, no. I cannot --" the man began. "I do not . . . It is not in my nature!" Aragorn stammered out, remembering himself and trying to push the elf away, but finding it impossible as Legolas kept him captive with an impossible strength. The cloak twisted tighter.

And then the elf smiled a toothy grin as he leaned in close to the man. His eyes stared directly into Aragorn's, and the Ranger could not tear himself away. So close were they that he could feel the heat of Legolas' body pressing against his skin, and the elf's breath teased his lips with his nearness. Aragorn felt his own breath hitch in his throat and he felt he might choke on the air he held while his heart thundered out a staccato beat. "It seems you would have me," Legolas said mockingly.

"Nay!" Aragorn exclaimed.

"You want me, Aragorn," the elf said as he ground his body into the man's, nearly toppling him in his pressing. "Look to your own body. It answers me," Legolas whispered in the man's ear. Aragorn could feel the elf's body rub, hardened flesh grinding against him. And then, to Aragorn's ultimate shame and humiliation, just as the elf had said, he found his own body responding to the elf's touch.

"Cease this!"

"You should not defy me!" Legolas warned, and those words rang with familiarity. The elf suddenly released his grip and stepped back to reveal his body. Aragorn saw then that the elf was naked. Strangely, it was not a shock. Instead he could feel the ache in his loins answer to the rousing sight and _that _is what frightened him. Legolas was astounding in his bodily magnificence, and he found his eyes tracing the line of the elf's sculpted chest, caressing the taut muscles of a flat abdomen, the taper of that narrow waist, and taking in those grace-slender hips. He felt his mouth water as his eyes lingered over long, lean legs, and then he repeated the path finishing off at the evocative curves where sternum met throat. He longed to dip his head into that small space and to take in the perfume of the elf's body. Aragorn found he could not turn his eyes away or stifle the growing heat of his own breaths as he looked upon the feast of this handsome beauty.

Then Legolas lay down before him. Elven eyes gazed at him in lust and rapture. At first, the elf's stare appeared distant, as if in a dream, and Aragorn thought that for the first time in his recollection, the eyes did not look through him, but simply at him. He wondered if perhaps the elf were dreaming, but the eyes seemed to focus on him, much like the loving glances he felt under Arwen's gaze. Aragorn gasped, for that look was an intoxicating thing to behold. It was as if instead of looking into the man, the elf were revealing the depths of his own soul and what Aragorn saw there was pure desire, and _love_.

He knew he should run. This was his opportunity to flee. But he found his eyes locked on the sight of the elf's hands drifting over the perfect body and without thinking, his panted gasps laced over the soft moans of the elf's voice. Long, perfect fingers ran the length of the elf's figure with sensual vigor. Fingertips paused at beaded points of rosy nipples, and the heel of the caressing hand pressed into that flesh. The elf tossed his head under the ecstasy of his own touch, and the invitation to Aragorn was clear. "Ask me to say I want you," Legolas moaned.

Aragorn dropped to his knees. He did not think then. He simply complied as the cloak gathered into a sweeping curtain that billowed up to surround them. "Tell me that you want me," he said between husky breaths.

The elf sighed, a smile curling his lips in a wanton expression. "I want you," he gasped. "I want you. I want you."

That declaration quickened Aragorn's heart and his desires were set to a feverish pitch. He let go of any inhibitions and felt his body move to meet the elf. The cape swept over them to house them in that gentle warmth, and they lived in the harmony of perfect motions and flesh. The darkness of the fabric fell around them, but Aragorn did not care. Without thought, he was gyrating in time with the elf's persistence. He could not stop this. It was bliss and he wanted the fulfillment of what was being offered him. The ecstasy was exhilarating. He felt consumed by his desire.

He bent over the elf, sucking on the flesh that met his kisses. His body felt hot and his breathing rasped loudly in the small hollow created in the curtained space where his face came into the elf's neck. He brushed kisses along the smooth column, his tongue lingering over the taste of the alabaster flesh. The scent of pine whisked in his nose as he nuzzled into the silky hair. His turgid organ, sheathed yet in the confines of his clothing, yearned to lunge forward and rock in rhythm with the body. Fumbling motion between them told the man that a hand reached down to his aching want and attempted freedom. A moment later, he found relief as fingers cupped around the heated flesh. He felt a gasp of tremulous thrill hitch in his throat as his body spontaneously bucked into that wondrous pleasure. Beneath him, the voice of the male elf purred a joyous moan, and just the sound of it nearly undid him. His body pushed with gathered intensity, the fingers about him moving in a quickened pattern, and he arched his back while grinding in automatic motion.

He could find joy in this forever. He wanted this, and he forgot all else but the feelings taunting him, aching for completion.

He was floating, lost, happy in this. "It is a pretty sight," the wind whispered in his ear, and he felt a caress upon his brow given with the words. It fed his want, leading him to feel loved and whole. And yet strangely, when he considered, it was almost as if an ethereal presence had said this. But also, there was a physical quality to the utterance. Still, it was distant and he did not think hard on it; he merely felt. He leaned into the gesture, adoring and agreeing with the speaker. What he was experiencing was indeed beautiful. He felt so alive and so fulfilled and so aching with his need. The words seemed to match that yearning. "I can see how you might choose this."

But the oddity struck him then. It was not the wind speaking. Something caught his eye, and he glanced up. A figure moved past, shrouded in white and pale blues and grays. The wind whipped again, and the great cloak that tented Aragorn and Legolas was flung away. The cold was a shock, as was the sight he found before him, for now he faced the one for whom he had earlier longed. Only that had been before. Now she was the last one he wished to see. He gasped, looking down, realizing his bodily exposure, and that of his lover, and he felt sick with the ugliness of what was now laid out so openly in the blunt chill of the open world. He became caught up in shock as he tried to pull away from Legolas. "Arwen," he murmured.

But her eyes snared him and he was trapped. Like an insect caught in a bell jar, he was made vulnerable to her eyes. Cold. He trembled in fear and sickly shame. He was found, and he could see his failure in her eyes. For all the love she had ever showed him, there was malevolence now. For all the tenderness and understanding she had bestowed upon him prior, there was only hate present. Her eyes pierced him like the eyes of all her kind, and there was a distance he could not breech. It was as if she stood on the other side of an ocean, so great was her aloofness. She was so very far away.

"Arwen, please!"

Aragorn bolted upright, his heart pounding through his chest.

He was no longer on the cliff side, but alone on his bedroll, his cloak drawn about him, and he was in a place surrounded by the sleeping members of the Fellowship. Relief washed over him then. It was not real. Though he could not deny his personal humiliation for what he knew he had been experiencing, at least he knew it was not real.

In the corner of his eye, he saw a golden flash, and he turned to see Legolas standing on his watch, his hair spun gold in the afternoon sun. The elf apparently noticed the abrupt awakening of the Ranger and he looked at the man with scrutinizing eyes. Aragorn could feel his face flush with the sudden attention. Those eyes sliced into his soul and he turned away, the memory of what had been in his dreams still vivid to his waking mind. His humiliation was doubled as his all too real dream actions were recalled. He felt as if Legolas knew in that glance what he had been thinking, and he felt a wave of wretched disgrace slam into him at the indignity forced upon him.

Worse, his body was still at alert, his groin aching with the unspent need of his base lusts. He tried to ease back from the tautness in his breeches. He felt horrible shame that his body had responded so, and more so that he had ultimately given in. He could not believe he had acted so, even if it was just a situation of his mind's own make.

But what really bothered him was the heart of the passion. The Ring taunted him, and it did so by finding a fissure in his front. So certain Aragorn had been that he could not be enticed that he had ignored the more accessible entrances to his heart. The dream was telling. Aragorn had felt lust, and that was both a shocking and repulsive revelation.

It was unfathomable to the man's mind and went against everything of his nature. He had never thought, let alone felt, such a thing before and such desires were alien to him. Never mind that elves seemed not bothered by a pairing so made. Aragorn was not thus inclined! Legolas was male! Never until this moment had he thought such a thing as to mesh his body with that of another male! And yet in the dream, it had seemed so desirable. That frightened him.

His mind immediately went to his Undomiel. "Arwen," he whispered, reminding himself who it was that had snared his heart. He tried to assure himself that the dream was not real, that he could never feel that way about another. At the same time the surprising feelings and gathered wants teased him. Legolas had been so desirable. Even now, in thinking it through, he felt the urge to act further on this yen.

It did not help that his body yet ached. He felt unbalanced, his nerves affray, and the memories of both his real life humility and what had occurred in his dream state rattled him. Though he tried to put it from his mind, his shaky pride would not be freed and his body would not calm. Heedless of his wish to be done with it, the need pressed on him, and the knowledge that Legolas stood but a short distance away only made him shudder with tension. He would have to find relief if he were to be released from his deep agitation. And so he rose, as if to relieve his body of banal needs. He disappeared into the brush, feeling the elf's eyes following his back as he moved.

When he knew he could not be seen, even by the sharp eyes of the elf, he loosened the ties of his garb and released hot flesh. He knew that it would not take much to complete the fulfillment of his heat. He refused, however, to consider the elf in his imaginings. Neither would he sully the vision of Arwen by putting her up against his vile yearning. He was ashamed he should find need of this, and he bit on the inside of his cheek to stifle his moans. His mind returned to the vision of his dream, but he immediately banished the thoughts. He could not let that humiliation taint his mind. Instead, he focused on sensation alone, and within a minute he felt the full rise of his screaming fulfillment. He arched back into it, though he bit back his cry. And as he came to the peak of his bodily spending, a tear slipped loose and trickled down his cheek.

His head dropped to his chest as he exhaled his relief. And then he had the time to consider: what did it mean?

The dream was unkind and strange and the remembrance of Arwen walking away was excruciating. He felt a pain tug at his heart. What if that should happen? What if he should lose her?

And what of Legolas? He had never thought of Legolas in this way. Why would he think of the elf with such desires now?

His mind went back to days before. He remembered considering the elf's hands, his eyes. He remembered being taken with Legolas' beauty, with the perfection of the elf's skin. Never before that moment had he considered the intrigue of the male elf. Now it haunted him. Persistently, he realized, it begged his attention.

_No!_

He refused to give in to this longing! Thoughts of the elf would not ruin what was his! Legolas would not act as a divider to the love he shared with Arwen! The Ring would not do this to him. It would not destroy him!

And at that moment he hated Legolas. He would not let the imagined loss happen or give in to these primal urges. He was stronger than that and he would endure the Ring's taunts. He would overcome and succeed. He would. He must!

_  
  
####  
####  
####  
  
_

They stood yet on the talan, and Galadriel continued to probe Aragorn's mind. Long did it seem to him that she pried, though not a word passed outwardly between them. But the mysteries of time were oddly put in the elven realms, and none of the others seemed to notice the lingering focus on the man.

_"You could not discern that the Ring put these thoughts into your mind?"_

_"I did."_

_"But you hated Legolas for something that was not his doing."_

_"I despaired. The thoughts of losing Arwen were too overwhelming. I did not think my anger would take over. I thought I could control it and my irritation was just a sign of my weariness."_

_"You excuse your ignorance still with blame put upon your exhaustion."_

_"No. I knew it was the Ring."_

_"Yet you did not fully believe it. You thought it was your doing as well."_

_"I was confused. It seemed so odd that nothing told me to TAKE the Ring. The feelings were so real, but they said nothing of seeking greater power."_

_"But that is how It works. It makes you think Its desire is yours."_

_"I felt nothing but lust and anger."_

_"Anger for no cause."_

_"I was blind to It."_

_"You had been warned of what It could do, Aragorn. Gandalf told you. You turned your eye away from the demons of your mind. You failed."_

_"I . . . Yes."_

_"You found yourself corrupted because you thought you might hold It off by pretending ignorance. You chose exhaustion as your excuse, when the reality was your pride would not allow you to believe you were susceptible."_

_"I fought the impulses!"_

_"You denied the impulses. You buried them in your soul, and you allowed them to fester and grow more wretched with your false ignorance."_

_"I did not know it would come to this."_

_"A life hangs in the balance because of your actions! Can you say he will not die because of what you did to him?"_

_"Will he? Lady, please tell me. Will Legolas die?_

_"I cannot determine that as of yet. You must tell me more of what came."_

_"No. It is ugly."_

_"I have seen desire just as base as this, son of Arathorn, and though this is not a graceful moment, it does not mean there is no gain to be found in it. Perhaps we will find redemption still."_

And then all came to real time. She excused the party then, offering them a pavilion in which they might rest. Her eyes focused on the elf amongst them before turning to Aragorn and speaking to him aloud. "I would speak with you privately, Strider of the Rangers."

"As you . . . as you wish, Lady," he replied, knowing that he had no other choice.

**TBC**   
  


_A/N:_ ::nervous grin:: . . . ahem . . . Soooooo . . . . Reviewer Responses anyone?

_Rozzan _- There, there. Feel free to console Legolas all you want. I really haven't done anything to him yet, but if it makes you feel better, comfort him all you want now. He's going to need it. Trust me.

_Jenolas _- Oh, I'm afraid this chapter is really going to make you run away then. It gets worse, if that's possible. ::looks over notes:: Yep, definitely worse. If it's any consolation, Aragorn is about to wise up quite a bit. It won't do him a lick of good, but he's trying.

_Anon -_ Thank you! It was really difficult to write because his emotions were bouncing like a ping pong ball. I'm really glad you liked it.

_Mercredi _- I agree. In fact I have some thoughts written on that in my end notes. In a way, this story is a testimonial to exactly how brave and strong Frodo was. Thank you for your kind words.

_Irena -_ I saw. I fainted. I freakin' can't believe it. Thank you for coming in to my lair. I think this story might meet to your tastes, though I never once tie him down. Swear. Still, what I have in mind is almost as good as duct tape. Enjoy!

_Kalima -_ I hope this continues to please you. I really love elves and their way of thinking. Sindarin vs. Quenyan? I thought that was rather fun, as well as the time discrimination thing. I have elven senses of humor coming up too.

_Nightwing_ - Ah, I KNEW you would get the wind. Yes, they all have their struggles, though this story is told exclusively from Aragorn's perspective, so it's a little hard to know what is going through everyone else's heads. We'll catch a glimpse of Legolas' thoughts later though. His reaction might make sense once you get the whole picture.

_Fliewatuet _- Well, I think you are going to have to wait and see what unfolds. I really like that you are trying to read the subtleties though. Very good. I do plant hints. As for Aragorn's lie, he will be remedying that soon. It won't help, but he _will_ be confessing. You are allowed to fear for Legolas now.

_JastaElf_ - Your order is in the kitchen and I'll be bringing it out as it comes. Let me start you off with a salad of immoral thinking, a house specialty. I put the undressing on top. Oops, looks like the guilt is already up. That's okay, it holds well. I'll see how the rest of your order is coming along.

_Noone -_ Sorry, but I just happen to adore cliffhangers. It's part of that 'seeing them squirm thing' I so enjoy. I've been told I'm wicked because of the prevalence of them in my fics. I guess I have a reputation to uphold. Thanks for your review.

_Templa Otmena -_ Wow, what a great review! Yes, yes, the eyes are a symbolic device. I'm going to team you and Nightwing up together, because you both seem to pick up on my clues. Fliewatuet is there too. I'm so glad you are enjoying a look at the Ring's battle in Aragorn's mind. The Ring has not won yet. In fact, it is just testing the grounds -- slippery little device. It will be far less obvious when it does strike.

_Theresa Green -_ What a delight to have you here for two reviews in a row. Thank you. Well, I'm trying to get into Aragorn's head. We'll see if I succeed. As for Gimli, LOL I can just hear him saying that, in exactly the same way too. Love may blossom, but the way it is delivered is by the accord of the lovers, eh? I have a plot bunny coming your way later in the story. Let's see if it finds and nibbles on you.

_IMTrinity -_ Gosh, thank you! I'm delighted, but I'm curious to see what people will think of me after this chapter? It's a tough theme, and there is stuff even harsher to come. Do you still like? If nothing else, I gave you the chapter quick. It's something.

_Myra the Archer -_ That is so sweet. Please do let me know if anything really comes of it. The Ring is a very menacing foe. Aragorn is finally coming to see he cannot fight it off the way he thought he could, and he will do a face to face with his own demons soon. Thanks for the wonderful review!

_Serein -_ Hee hee! I know EXACTLY what you like, and you shall be getting it. All grand gestures aside, truth is, what you like is what I originally set out to write. And then this nasty thing -- a plot bunny -- came and bit me on the ankle and before I knew it the whole thing was swollen into this monstrosity. It sort of ate the rest, but I hope you will enjoy the end result, despite all the literary stuff thrown in for effect.

_Gemini969 -_ I hope it continues to intrigue you. There were times when I worried, "Is this old hat? Has this been done?" I don't know if anyone has taken it where I intend to take it though, even if the basis of the plot is not entirely unique. Thank you for reviewing. I hope to see you here again.

That's it for today. More to come soon. Don't forget to review!


	4. The Telling Fall

_A/N:_Once again thank you to Lamiel and Elf Lady for their great comments in beta reading this chapter.

  
  


**Heart of the Dream**  
_by Ithilien_

**Chapter Four: The Telling Fall**

Twelve days out and they had made it to a point nearing Eregion. Sparse remnants of buildings that had once been lookout posts and high towers littered the cliff sides. These were the ruins of an elven home long ago deserted. Further south, in the vale, the remnants of Hollin remained. This had been the place where the inspiration for the Rings of Power had been laid, and there, Celebrimbor had been made the unknowing accomplice of Sauron the Deceiver. Yet, that had been long ago. Now, it was gone, gone but for the relics, and they were cherished by one elf at least. Legolas looked upon each archaeological discovery with wide-eyed wonder and, though he was no elf, Aragorn joined him, for he had also learned many of the tales of those who had lived in this region at another time.

He mused at Legolas' awe, for he knew the wood elf had little experience outside his homeland. He could not begrudge his friend the chance to see something of ages past. He also knew Legolas' grandfather and father had likely crossed these lands in their travels east out of Doriath at the time when they had searched for a home to claim as their own. Aragorn was not sure how much the elf knew of those days. He only knew that Legolas had not yet been born then. From Elrond's tales of the time, Thranduil had been unwed and and young, much like Legolas was now. Sauron had walked these lands then, and Aragorn wondered if Thranduil or Oropher had ever ventured a chance meeting with that Maia when he had been fair to look upon. What a tale that might have been, were it so. Aragorn wondered too if anything was left of Sauron in these lands.

The man turned his eyes to Frodo to see if the Ringbearer was haunted in some way by their trek, for though he knew that the Ring had not been forged until the last days when Hollin lived and that this was not the home of the Ring's birth, he worried that vague traces of the Ring's master might yet exist here. However, the Hobbit remained undaunted, wary, but unmoved. Frodo surveyed the ruins with vague wonder, just as the rest of the party did, and secure in his assurance, the man turned away.

Aragorn considered their road. The up and down climbing was hard on the small folk, and the cautious and wearying steps they had taken were difficult ones. Fortunately, they did not have many more days to go before they would reach the Redhorn Gate, to which they might safely cross these mountainous ridges and descend to the Silverlode. It had not been the easiest way to go, but it was undoubtedly the safest. And while they were there, there was no reason they could not find pleasure in the small discoveries they had made.

His eyes went back to Legolas. Aragorn could see in his glance that the elf was filling in what was missing. Much had been taken by time. A look of sorrow came over the fair face, and Aragorn felt a twinge of pain for what had once been there and what was now lost. How glorious Hollin must have been in its time, golden and climbing, caressing the valley and soaring into the mountain. It would have been as a ribbon, draped in a flowing line, winding from the base of Caradhras and meandering down into green dells. Gone was that great cityscape. Gone were the elves. He could see the pain in Legolas' eyes, and Aragorn's heart welled in sympathy. Still, there was something of that sorrowful gaze that reminded the man of the yearning expressions the elf had worn in the dream, and Aragorn was forced to turn away.

He could not forget the sin of his dream, let alone forgive it. Yet as much a reminder Legolas was of his own wretchedness, Aragorn had allowed himself to relinquish some of his dread. It had not been real. It was a temptation halted before it could be fulfilled. He was glad for that. And further, days had passed, and he had not been haunted again by anything so nightmarish. He was willing to let some of his shame go with time's passing, and so long as he stayed on guard, he felt he might be safe. For the moment, all seemed safe.

"We shall rest here," Gandalf said after conferring with Legolas. The Ranger looked at the grey-haired wizard and then to the elf and nodded. They had marched long through the night and as the day grew brighter in the morning sun, they became more exposed. If there were eyes searching, the party would not be hard to spot. However, among these ruins, there were places they might hide.

Legolas caught his eye_. _A small smile passed the elven lips, and Aragorn was only too happy to return it. He knew the elf was at greater alert, watching him now, and with good cause, but Legolas had not disclosed the trespass upon him to Gandalf, and he had been easy to forgive the man.

And now, Aragorn could see his friend's pleasure. He knew what was meant in the smile and then a nod, and reluctant though he was, Aragorn accepted it with a nod of his own. _He tells me he is about to explore the area._ He would have preferred that words had been said between them rather than this abbreviated form of communication, but he knew how the elf's mind worked. _He only remembers my words about 'skulking'._ He smiled to himself, knowing that argument had been passed over in Legolas' mind, choosing playfulness as his way to mock Aragorn instead of scorning him. _No one can say a smile is as a skulk._

How easily the elf let any lingering wariness pass. Legolas acted almost as if the event had not happened. Almost. Though they had not discussed the man's press upon the elf those few days past, there was no doubt Legolas held Aragorn at a greater distance. It was not apparent. This Aragorn knew. So deft were the elves. Legolas made it seem that nothing was askew. And verily it was not except that he would not let the man touch him, nor would he allow his companionship unless another was within hearing distance. Aragorn felt it was fitting. He had violated something by coming so near, and it would be a long journey to remedy that.

But other things bothered the man. He still felt hesitation about the premonition he had regarding Legolas' demise. _Was it true,_ he wondered, for it felt so much the greater of all the visions he had been assaulted with that day. Yet he knew the Ring had been testing him, and he felt, in a way, this vision was a test too. Still, many times over since he had considered speaking on it though he always refrained. He was fearful to say anything for he could guess the repercussions that would follow. If he told Gandalf, the old wizard would ask more questions, and Aragorn would be forced to disclose the Ring's toying and to admit to what had happened between Legolas and him. Were he to say anything to Legolas, the elf would simply dismiss it, telling him it was just one more distraction of the Ring's doing, and not to worry for his sake. And he could not speak to the others, for it would only worry and frighten them.

Ultimately, he knew he could not hold back the elf, and so he let it go. Still . . . _always_ it seemed that the elf was off to scout, and he wondered if ever his friend might obey him and stay near, or if this was Legolas' own compunction due him from the Ring. Yet, gazing about at the imagined antiquities, he could forgive Legolas for wanting to see this. Aragorn wanted to see it too.

He turned around then, choosing a different path than the elf, and he skittered down the rocky terrain and away from the camp. He would use this opportunity to check that tracks of possible pursuers were not to be found on a lower ridge. And while he was at it, he might explore these old relics. It was doubtful anything of Tengwar might be written in them, but still he could hope to find something. And so he set off.

It was just a few hundred feet on this path that he came upon another patch of the _galenolas. _Not a day had gone by that he had not discovered the sweet smelling weed. How it came to be so abundant in these parts, Aragorn was uncertain. He could not recall seeing even small growths of it in times past when he had traveled these regions. Yet he knew how vegetation could proliferate and spread when conditions were right, and he had to assume such was the case with this plant.

He considered plucking another handful of the thin jewel-green leaves, but cast the idea aside. The batch in his pouch had dried up nicely, and Aragorn had enough, should he need it, to sooth any of the mortals that might suffer injury. And so he continued on his circling trek, never finding the remains of the ancient culture he had hoped to uncover and not giving his other discovery a second thought.

By the time he had returned to the camp, most everyone in the party had eaten and they were already spreading their bedrolls out that they might take some rest. The shifts had been established early on the journey, and this day it was Legolas' watch first. All that was needed to complete the vigil was the elf.

As if on cue, the sound of rocks dropping from a higher ridge could be heard. Aragorn turned his head and saw Legolas near one of the upper ruins, stepping lightly over the rocky ground. Aragorn was relieved to know his dismissal of worry had been a sound decision, and he waited for Legolas to join him that he might get a report before he turned in himself.

The sound of the few rocks that fell was not loud, but it was enough to draw the man's attention. And as he turned his head to look over his shoulder, that nagging worry was back. He really could not place a reason for it to be there, but it struck him in earnest just as he looked. And in the same instance, he was reminded that elves did not make sound where they tread. Silently and with grace did they step. Yet Legolas had made a noise, and Aragorn felt panic rise in his throat as he turned in the elf's direction. He had seen this before!

"Legolas!"

He had seen this before in his premonition! The ground beneath Legolas was slipping away. The rattle of loosened dirt echoed over the scattered rocks. These too were caught in the cascade. They were falling free. A rumble sounded and Aragorn tensed. Legolas was falling! It was just as he had seen.

Scanning quickly, he knew their camp to be safe. But as he turned back, his fears increased. Legolas was in the midst of the small avalanche. The elf's feet were moving, sliding beneath him, yet working to keep up with the mountain's churning movement. Like a nightmare experience, Aragorn could not turn away, and yet he could not dash forward either. There was nothing he could do but watch.

He found Gandalf next to him then. Several others leapt up from their resting spots as the trouble became clear.

"What is he -- ?"

"He will be caught up in it!"

"Legolas! Get out of there!"

"No! Mister Legolas!"

"Oh no!"

Tears, shrieks of fright, and calling voices blended into one. Aragorn felt his throat ache from the cry he had let spring forth, though he was not sure what his utterance had been. His was just another voice mingled with the others. It did nothing to help the elf, and he watched as the battle became a losing one. For such an event, the noise had not been very great, and it was easy to think it might have been a lesser occurrence as a result. But Aragorn knew better. Within seconds it was over. He saw the ridge give way, carrying with it dirt, rocks and the elf. They plummeted into a gorge on the other side of the rise.

He had foreseen this and he felt his heart thunder as his fear and guilt crushed him. He should have spoken of it. He should have admitted what he knew. About him the Fellowship stood, gaping with horror. _No, please!_ his mind called to the gods.

"No! No! No!" he heard someone cry and then he realized it had been him calling these words.

And then everyone moved at once, running to the gorge. It was confusion and clear mayhem in the brown air, but all started toward the pit despite their blindness. And he was first among them. Immediately he made to climb into the deeps. His body was reacting now. It was not with his mind that he did this thing. He ran to help because he simply must. He must recover and protect! How long might Legolas survive being buried alive? He had to get there! He had to help! These were the thoughts that ran in his mind.

He heard voices crying out to the elf, and still more crying outrage. But he had no time to look back. Disaster was before him, not behind.

A strong hand pulled him back, ruggedly, abruptly. His head whipped around, angered that he was being stopped. He looked at who it was that held him, and in the hazy light, he saw Gimli.

"Wait for the dust to clear, Aragorn," Gimli advised, but it was said more as a sharp cuff than a telling voice. And behind him, Aragorn could see the wizard pulling the Hobbits from their rushed steps, tears and cries running free from them. And beside them, panting heated breaths, Boromir slowed, looking with an expression of horror and confusion toward Aragorn. The Ranger turned back to the dwarf, as if to argue, and he might have done so but for the knell sound that had come in the dwarf's voice. "Without seeing, you could fall further and deeper. You could bury him even more." The words seemed to confirm the deathly fright that gripped the man's heart, and he knew the others had heard by the way they all recoiled. But he could see that advice was not easily given. Dark eyes intensely stared into him, making clear their point. The dwarf's tone was sober and colored with fear. At that moment Aragorn could see that Gimli was as terrified as he was.

Tears came to fill Frodo's eyes, and Sam put a hand to his shoulder. All eyes fixed into the grave. Aragorn drew back for the moment, staring into the deep hole. How could he wait? It was maddening to think it.

And then he leapt forward, a sense of outright anxiety gripping him along with a strong desire to protect. He did not care if it was prudent. He must help. Gimli heaved an experated grunt but said nothing as he started the descent on the man's heals. And then Boromir followed also without comment. They fanned out across the slope, being gentle with their steps. And while this was happening, Aragorn's emotions were in a constant state of turmoil. The many previous moments of irritation and wronged feelings came to him then, and the man found his thoughts filled with remorse, regret and anger. He cursed within his mind at the elf's need to see and touch everything. _Had Legolas only stayed in the camp, none of this would have happened! _Yet that hammering thought was contradicted with the reckless worry he could not repress. He had allowed this to happen. He had known. He had seen it.

From above, voices called into the brown murk. The Hobbits were crying out Legolas' name. Aragorn edged forward in his quest, his eyes searching every inch of the ground as he prayed for a sign of his friend. None knew quite where he might be, and the air was still thick with the dust. The taste of iron and clay mingled on his tongue and his mouth was made dry by it. But he ignored it, only noting that his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. He searched the setting as deeply as he searched his heart. And then he heard it. A shift of rubble. The movement of loose shale.

Relief washed over him for the sound echoed up from the gully to his left. He could hear the noise of rocks spilling and then a cough. _A cough!_ His heart surged in joyous reprieve. It was Legolas!

Without thinking further, he raced toward the sound. No hand held him back this time. He could not see Gimli or Boromir, but he called out to them all the same. "Here! Here!"

Motion caught his eye, and simultaneously he heard the elf. Legolas coughed as he pushed himself out of the consuming earth. Through the fog, Aragorn could see that the elf was buried but had somehow managed to kick free. The dirt sluiced off him like water as he rose from the weakened soil. Aragorn skidded down the rest of the ridge, rocks scraping along his back as he jostled to a sliding end. A tumble of stone spilled with him, the ricocheting sound muffled by the clouded air. He could hear Legolas hacking as he rolled, turning onto his back, and then the elf lay still, as if exhausted by the effort.

"Legolas!" Aragorn cried as he stumbled to meet his friend. He was awhirl in emotions. Joy and fright intertwined. The elf only continued to choke in answer, though the rasps were shortening, and then ended completely as Aragorn neared. "Legolas," the man called to him, but the elf did not answer. Dread fear washed over the man. His friend's eyes were open, but he did not look at the man. And then Aragorn realized the archer was unconscious. "Legolas," he repeated in a voice that was choked with concern, and he reached out a hand to shake the elf's shoulder.

That seemed to pull Legolas to his senses. He flinched to a startled alert, choking on air again then. But then suddenly, he scowled as if in pain. His fingers reached up to touch the base of his skull, and Aragorn dropped to his knees, catching up the hands into his and said, "Let me look at you, Legolas."

"No!" the elf managed to choke out, and he pushed the man away. "No!" he repeated again, and Aragorn looked on in concern. Terror filled the elf's eyes, which were wide with panic. The elf pushed himself up, nearly knocking Aragorn over with his urgency.

"Legolas!" Aragorn snapped, but he could see he was being ignored. Aragorn reached again for a grip on his friend's wrist. "Legolas, stop," he demanded.

The elf looked at him, and he was white. His voice was raspy and raw, mixed with blind fear. "Release me!" he snapped and Aragorn immediately let go.

Aragorn then turned about, suddenly feeling too the claustrophobia wrought by the cloud of dust. It was oppressive, like a great cloak pulled over his face. It was smothering and restrictive. Aragorn suddenly felt as if he could be trapped there if he remained. Immediate panic claimed him and he wished nothing more than to be free of the place. Legolas was already ahead of him in their climb to the rise and Aragorn made haste to catch up to him.

Out of the dusty fog, Gimli caught up to them, and he took the elf's forearm and pulled him. The reaching hand of Boromir came next, and it seemed they were a living chain.

And then they were free. Escaped from the prison of that choking cloud. Removed to cleaner air.

Aragorn was breathing hard when they reached the ridge point. He stood a moment, catching his breath and regaining his feet. He was covered in the dust from the chasm air and he began to brush it off. Twisting, he caught the sound of chattering voices. He saw the Hobbits and wizard gathered about Legolas, who was fastidiously trying to brush off dust that barely clung to him. The elf gave a weak smile of assurance to those concerned, trying to break away from them in the casual air of one used to such events. Aragorn could see Legolas was embarrassed to be given such attentions.

The elf's pale cheeks flushed slightly under their ministering, but he continued to feign an even countenance, as if nothing had happened. Aragorn knew better and he considered what he had seen below. The air in the hole had been stifling and thick, cloying and unbreathable, held as if under a shroud. And the walls had seemed like they were pressing in on them, making it seem like they were being held. But more, Legolas' reaction had been of one panicked. It was as if he recognized in that moment in that could have spent an eternity there. Trapped with Aragorn. How easily the soils of these ancient lands had come crushing down on the elf. How easily the path across it had ceased to be.

There was significance in that, and Aragorn's brow furrowed as he realized the path left to him. He looked back into the hole, cloudy still with its end indecipherable, and then he looked around him in the clean air. A haze billowed around them, but he could see his companions and his friends here.

He took quick steps forward, knowing he had a task at hand. He had been witness to Legolas' unconsciousness, and panic, and he feared there was injury for which he must attend. No more could he let Legolas escape him nor could he ignore all that had happened. Wariness for Aragorn's touch or not, the man would do the job appointed him. "Legolas," he said abruptly, catching everyone's attention with the power of his voice. He honed the sound of it back. "Let me examine you now."

The elf smiled weakly, and Aragorn knew the meaning of the expression. He knew Legolas would try to make light of what had occurred, pretending the incident was insignificant. He knew Legolas would pretend there had been no danger. And he would do so to hold himself up in the light of all around him to make himself appear as strong, not vulnerable. Aragorn understood this. He recognized the shame that came somehow in admitting one could be dimmed. Legolas would never openly admit he had fallen to weakness. The pretense of his prowess must be held. Yet that must be stripped away if Aragorn were to heal the wounds he knew were hidden there. He glanced to Boromir and then Gimli, and saw them puff out their chests slightly, as if the command for treatment was directed at them. He knew immediately their response would have matched the elf's if so told.

"I am well, Aragorn. There is no need," Legolas said with a dismissive wave.

That denial made Aragorn feel a jab of anger. He did not care for warrior pride when it came to injury. Though never one to coddle when all was well, he abhorred those who refused treatment when there was need. No one, in Aragorn's mind, was beyond the need. Not that Aragorn was not guilty of the same. But it was one thing to forge on in the face of battle. It was something completely different when time permitted such treatments. In Aragorn's mind, it served no one to ignore an injury. Legolas had been hurt, and he could try to heal that if the elf would admit a wound existed.

Aragorn paused, breathing in an indignant breath. He knew he must address this. For the sake of everyone, it would be required. There were experienced and inexperienced travelers among them, and there was no sense in teaching those in training that bravado was a desirable trait.

"No arguments, Legolas. I know you are injured," Aragorn snapped back, and he could see resentment light the elf's eyes.

"How was he hurt?" Gandalf asked.

Aragorn turned his gaze to the wizard. "He was unconscious when I found him," the man said, and he felt slightly ashamed that he was speaking as if Legolas were not present, but he also knew it was the quickest way to maneuver Legolas into admitting the harms done to him.

The reaction to this news was just as he expected it would be. Immediately the others raised a clamor, and he could see the shame he had put on the elf. Still, Aragorn was slightly amused by the discomfiture Legolas showed. Had the elf honored his request for the examination in the first place, it might never have come to this.

"Legolas? Is that blood on your shoulder?" a voice cried from the group clustered around the elf. And all eyes turned to Pippin, who was pointing to something on the elf's back.

"It looks like blood," Merry conferred with a worried look.

"You are hurt, Mister Legolas," Sam said with concern.

And as Aragorn stepped into view, he could see a darkening stain of a deep ruddy brown coloring the shoulder of Legolas' outer tunic. The elf reached up and touched the spot, glancing over his shoulder as he did. And then his brow furrowed with a look of concern. He guided his hand to his skull, gently probing, and as he pulled his hand away, Aragorn saw Legolas' fingertips were covered in blood.

Gandalf leaned forward to the elf then and softly said, "Perhaps it would be best to concede to Aragorn's ministrations now," and he urged the elf forward into the man's direction. Aragorn felt a surge of smug satisfaction at hearing that.

The tentative expression on Legolas' face was telling, and Aragorn caught the mixed emotions he saw. Hesitancy. Tension. Hurt. But then the prince shifted, smiling slightly. "Of course, Aragorn," he said with little show of anything but compliance, bowing before the man as if offering himself as a gift.

The man sighed heavily as he accepted this. A clean cloth was handed to him and immediately the healer in him set to work. He did not wish to play games. He urged Legolas to sit as he moved behind the elf and pushed the curtain of hair away, attempting to look more closely at the most immediate wound. He had suspected hurt, and here it was. A small surge of satisfaction bubbled up in his gut as he saw Legolas flinch back when he too touched that spot where Legolas had found blood. But then he admonished himself for allowing something of ego to take over. He checked himself, reining in emotions as he focused on the injury. There was nothing of pleasure in pain. He directed himself to the task, his eyes and fingers doing their job.

It was at the place where neck met skull the he found the sticky wetness meshing into the elf's hair. A sizeable gash was there and it was bleeding rather profusely. He grimaced as he realized this was more than he had expected. _Direct pressure to slow the bleeding_, he thought, and again and again he swabbed.

"Do you have any pain?" Aragorn asked the elf, knowing already the answer. The elf shook his head and Aragorn pressed the rag into the elf's hand, forcing him to put pressure upon the injury as he had while he probed over Legolas' body, searching for other wounds. Finding none else, he used touch to manipulate the elf's limbs, feeling into the joints and looking for signs of pain on the elf's steely face. The elf remained passive, admitting no other hurts. He would have liked to probe more, to ask the elf to unclothe himself, but he sensed this wound was all that Legolas might be willing to concede. Thus he did not try to reach a more thorough exam. Instead he returned to the obvious head wound.

It would take multiple stitches to close it and there was little else he could offer than that. But that was not so disturbing to Aragorn as to how he might accomplish the suturing. To Aragorn's chagrin, he knew nothing in his kit had really prepared him to treat the elf for something of an incident like this. He knew the usual choice for an elf was to use no remedy at all, because typically, no matter what he might use, Legolas' tolerances to his medicines would spend all of Aragorn's pain killing medicines in one dose. So the choice was between leaving the wound untreated, or causing the elf more pain by stitching without numbing the wound.

Neither was a desirable solution. Aragorn found his hands shaking slightly, though he could not discern why. Between either choice, he knew he did not want to see the elf suffer needlessly. Non-treatment was not an option. He could suture without medication, and he knew the elf could tolerate it, but he was not fond of inflicting pain unnecessarily. Especially when he held himself to blame for this pain. Instead, another idea ran through his mind, and before he knew it, he was acting upon it.

"_Galenolas_," he muttered.

"_Galenolas_?" Gandalf repeated. "Aragorn, do you think . . .?"

The question broke the man from his assessing thoughts. It appeared Gandalf knew of the plant. Aragorn felt for a moment then as if he had been caught in the act of doing something wrong and he grew aware of his reddening face. Still, he knew this solution could work. He glanced about him. There were more patches of the plant growing just feet from where they stood. He gathered his courage and spoke.

"It grows fresh here. It would be the prudent remedy."

The wizard looked at the man through his brows, as if scrutinizing him, and then slowly nodded. "Yes," he said after a moment's pause, then nodded again. "Yes, I suppose you are right. A small handful might do it."

"Of what do you speak?" Legolas asked, not bothering to school the his of pain evoked by Aragorn's renewed swabbing at the bleeding wound again. Someone handed Aragorn a waterskin and he washed the gash clean. Immediately it began to bleed again.

"_Galenolas_ is a plant," Gandalf offered. "It is rare for the most part, but appears to grow in abundance here. In its raw state, it can have very valuable medicinal purposes for elves."

"A small handful, you say?" Sam asked as he went near the patch Gandalf had indicated in his nod.

"Do not touch it, Sam," Aragorn warned as he rose in the process of gathering his supplies. "Its properties are different when used upon mortals. I will gather it, for I know how to do so safely." Then he knelt before the plants and cut a small sampling, making sure that he wiped the blade clean after doing so while holding the plant by its stem, and not by the leaves. He made a show of pressing it into his mortar then and began crushing the leaves into a paste, plucking the stems free as he used the pestle to wedge the leaves down. It was all done smoothly and cleanly without touching the substance to his own skin. And when it was done, he instructed Legolas.

"You must apply this paste to the wound, Legolas, while I swab the bleeding."

"What will it do?" the elf tentatively asked.

"It will do you no harm," Aragorn answered curtly, feeling as if he were being questioned about his course of treatment.

"Come, my friends," Gimli could be heard to say from behind Aragorn, "this is not a fit sight for Hobbit eyes."

"I dare say it is not for those of a weak stomach to view," Boromir added, and Aragorn could hear the Hobbits being lead away.

"It will numb the area of the wound, Legolas, as well as help stave off the blood until it can be sutured," Gandalf answered the elf's question with patience, and Aragorn was drawn back. Then it seemed the wizard looked about, as if to assure they were alone, and then he directed his attention to the man. "Aragorn, do you feel well?"

The man blinked in surprised; the question was quite relevant. In fact, he did not feel well. At least not wholly in mind. Bodily we was well, but he felt sick with his own guilt. He had just been contemplating his own blame in the current situation and realizing he had pains of his own that ate at him. Still, he had not thought them to be so visible. The depth to which he had been read astonished him and he tried to comprehend how the wizard might realize his unsettled feelings. Drawing himself up, he said, "I apologize, Gandalf. I should not be so easily moved. Forgive me if I appeared riled."

Gandalf smiled at him then, raising an eyebrow in a knowing way, and then he leaned in toward the man and said, "You are forgiven. But you have not answered my question."

Aragorn frowned, realizing he was being evasive and seeing the wizard was rooting him out, just as Aragorn had humbled Legolas into admitting his mild ills. In a way, he felt as if he had been found, hiding in a cloud, and he felt shame for being caught in it. But he was also gladdened for it, for he decided then it truly was time he spoke out. And in answering, he knew he had to do so truthfully, though caution was also his goal lest he take a wrong step and slide further into the hole of his lies. He sighed, hanging his head and said, "I feel guilty, Gandalf. This injury to Legolas is mine to blame."

The old man frowned, his face showing mild amusement. "And how, pray tell, do you think this possible?"

Aragorn paused, and then said, "I foresaw this incident."

Gandalf's eyes grew dark, obviously taking that admission seriously. Beside him, Legolas stirred. "When? Where?"

"Three days journey back." The elf's posture grew rigid, though his head remained bowed and his face was left unseen.

"And you did not speak of it?" Anger edged the question, and Aragorn felt humbled by how darkly that query came. He felt as if his chest were constricting, that he was being smothered.

"I thought it false. I -- I did not believe it until it came into reality today," Aragorn stammered in a hesitant voice.

"Why would you think that?"

Aragorn's heart was beating loudly then, and his hands shook, forcing him to put down the bowl lest the pestle rattle in the stone mortar. He glanced briefly at Legolas between them. The elf sat stoically, his eyes unable to pierce him because of his lowered head, but Aragorn felt rather certain he was waiting with diligent ears to hear what the man might say. But more than that, he felt certain the elf was quaking as well, silent and still though he was. The deceptions were being uncovered. It was time they were brought into the free air and he knew Legolas was gladdened to see them pulled free.

Steeling himself, Aragorn breathed his deepest shame, "The Ring was playing in my mind then."

A long silence followed as the wizard studied the man. Aragorn felt as if he held his breath through the duration of long minutes in that scrutinizing hold. But at last the wizard released his eyes and bowed his head. He said, "I thought as much."

And then he leaned back on his heals, growing tall where he sat, and the day seemed to grow brighter just then. The wizard's stern expression softened, and gently he said, "What is past cannot be revised." But despite the evenness of the comment, Aragorn felt the words sting. They had manifold meaning, the worst of them pointing to the bane of this journey -- the failure of Aragorn's ancestor past. But the wizard spoke again, as if brushing the admission and its hurts aside. "I assume that in your telling me, you are past the Ring's sway?"

The man nodded, eager to be past this.

The wizard smiled. "Good then. It would be better should we learn from this lesson. We all have made mistakes." He put his hand to Legolas' shoulder then and said, "Let us avoid the outward path Legolas took. And," he came to stand, "let us speak forth should other premonitions come." He looked pointedly at Aragorn as he gained his full height, "No matter what their source may be."

"To that I agree," Aragorn said, nodding at the old man in gratitude as the wizard departed. He turned his eyes to his task as he put the bowl with the paste before the elf. He touched a hand to Legolas' shoulder then, leaning forward, and through the curtain of hair he could see the elf's eyes and the depth of emotion contained within them.

There were a thousand things Aragorn could have said to Legolas just then, but none of them seemed right. But it seemed not to matter, for the elf's gaze was open and warm, and he realized his friend did not need words. There was an expression of forgiveness in the elf's eyes, as well as something of sorrow. Aragorn could not quite read it all, but a quiet acceptance was given to him regardless.

And so he set to work. As calmly as he could, he swabbed the wound and then instructed Legolas how to spread on the ointment. The man realized it must have had an immediate effect, for the elf applied it evenly and without flinching.

Boromir came to his assistance then, and at his side, he handed Aragorn a prepared needle. The Ranger began to stitch. When he was done, Aragorn wiped away the excess of the paste with his now bloody rag. Legolas' hair did much to cover the rest.

"You have first watch this day, do you not, Legolas?" Aragorn asked gently. His voice had grown even as his mood had calmed.

"I do," Legolas replied.

"Then I will take your watch. You must rest for the remainder of the day," Aragorn said, thinking again with the compassion of a healer. But there was more to it than this. He truly did feel regret that he had not mentioned the vision to the elf, but he knew if he had spoken before this, he would likely have had to tell of the rest, and the revelation that the Ring had swayed him would have come out. Of course, that is, in a way, what ultimately had happened, but he wished he had had the courage to do so before. Still, as Gandalf had said, the past could not be revised. Instead he was left with the present and he knew he could affect that. In a way, his brotherly actions were a means to apologize for this failure.

But the elf would not have it. "That is unnecessary," Legolas said as he turned his head from side to side, testing his mobility with the injury and not looking to the man. "I will keep my watch."

Aragorn could feel the small prickly sensation of ire rising yet again. Here again was that warrior bravado, and he would prefer it gone.

"Please do not argue with me, Legolas. As a healer, I tell you to rest."

"And I tell you that I see no need," the elf said, meeting Aragorn's eye then.

A throat cleared, as if trying not to interfere in their dispute. Boromir wore a mirthful smile, speaking sheepishly, as if finding their converse amusing. Behind him, Aragorn saw the others gathering again, going back to their sleeping places. "Well then, if all is done here, I will take my rest, for no matter who takes first watch, no one has volunteered to take mine . . . which is second... in case anyone wished to know," he hinted with a chuckle.

The Hobbits laughed from their close places, and Sam added, "And I have the third, so let us get some rest while we can . . . unless, of course, someone wants to take my watch as well."

The reply to this was quick. "I would take your watch and Boromir's too," Legolas said turning his head away from Aragorn and giving a courteous nod. "I feel no need of rest, and if you truly wished it, I would happily comply."

Aragorn interrupted, objecting loudly before anyone else could speak. "You should not even take your own shift, let alone that of the others! I said I would stand your watch." He glanced at Boromir and Sam, noting the wary frowns they wore. "I would suggest you get your sleep now," he calmly said. "All of you. It will be time soon enough for us to journey again. Let us not waste what we have over petty arguments such as these."

The gathering dispersed, with only Gandalf drawing near, as if he might say something. Legolas began to rise, but ignored Gandalf's proffered hand as he did so. Aragorn noted then, almost imperceptibly, there was a slight awkwardness to the move, as if Legolas were attempting to regain his equilibrium as he stood. To mortal eyes, it probably looked as graceful as any other movement of an elf, but Aragorn knew the true grace of the Firstborn, and he could see that Legolas was not quite right. And then he watched as the elf stepped away, rather stiffly for an elf, and his assessment was confirmed.

"You should rest, Legolas," he gently said, but he was ignored, just as he knew he would be.

Legolas went to his pack, bent down and began rummaging through the contents. Aragorn could see pain in the elf's movement, and he winced, wishing his advice were to be heeded. True, elves healed quickly, but he assumed that his friend was bruised and abraded beneath his clothing and a healing sleep would make it all that much better for him. It did more than just irritate him that the elf would ignore his recommendation.

And then Gandalf stepped to his side, and he leaning toward the man as he spoke much the same observation in a whispered voice. "He would never admit his pain."

Aragorn sighed in answer, feeling almost as if he should laugh for his chagrin, "I know this."

The wizard then surprised him with his next suggestion. "Do you think we might convince him to find ease?"

"We?" Aragorn did laugh then, immediately glad to take the wizard into his confidence. "_You_ might. You see how he avoids all ministrations I would offer. But in answer to your query, I believe, more than convincing him, it needs to be done. I could make a draught of _galenolas_ leaves to do just that. They can have a soothing effect and help dull any misery from pain." He rather liked this idea, though in truth he did not know where it had come from, for it suddenly just spilled from his mouth.

"Would he sleep then?" the wizard asked. "I do not think I could convince him were I to tell him your draught would induce sleep."

In this, Aragorn thought more fully before he spoke. "When mixed as it should, _galenolas _merely relieves the ache." This was saying the truth, of course, and at the moment, Aragorn meant nothing else as he confirmed it.

Again the wizard regarded the Ranger for a long minute, as if scrutinizing the idea. At first Aragorn thought his intentions might be under suspicion, but then he realized as he studied Gandalf's face that it was the method of doing this that perplexed his old friend. Convincing the elf to take the medicine would not be an easy task, but Aragorn knew if any might be able to do so, Gandalf could. He rejoiced in the idea, for he knew it would be for the best should the elf take the recommended medicine. The Maia seemed to concur this as he said, "I will speak to him. Make your tonic." And inside Aragorn, something dark found its glee.

  


**TBC**

  
  
  
  


_A/N:_ To those of you who have reviewed this story, thank you. I truly appreciate your thoughtfulness and kind words. You brighten my days enormously and I read what each of you says with a great deal of enthusiasm. I laugh out loud, literally, every time I get an email telling me that a review has come in. That gratification is extremely invigorating, and my responses to those who reviewed this week are written below.

  
**Response to Reviewers**

_Sigil Galen _- I'm so glad you see it as a fresh take. I've read many stories too where the damage is already done, the corruption complete. I really wanted to give better insight into what it took for Boromir to fall, and also for Frodo to remain so resilient. Tolkien already told us a bit of that side of the tale. I wanted something fresher. This story is the result. Thank you for your comments. I am pleased the emotional impact is coming through, difficult as it is.

_Mercredi_ - Oh, I adore you! We are most definitely on the same page. To me. a horror story is much more genuine when one can relate to what the characters experience, real person to somewhat real persons (even if the somewhat real persons lives in a world of courtly manners). Tolkien did not wish us to think on his characters in more than two-dimensions, as related by the narrative voice he used. At least that's what I think. He was an omnipotent witness in the telling, not really so much an actor in the story. That's a great tact for epic writing, or even for fairy tales, but it doesn't work here. My characters have warts, and dark thoughts too, and I'm trying to let the reader see that, all while attempting to hold to canon.

_Nightwing_ - I really thought hard about that chapter title. All of them really. I wanted to point out the literary symbol, and the cape was it there. Especially since a shroud is not only a cape but something you lay over a dead person. I loved tying it in to the wind too, as I think it drove home the point that the wind serves as a signal for evil. Now tell me what you think of this last title. Keep an eye on those phrases too. They are meaningful. "I believe in you," comes up again, as does, "Warm to me," and "Do not defy me," and "I want . . ." I just love repetitions, especially in short stories. Thank you also for your private encouragements. You are a wonderful friend.

_Templa Otmena_ - Yes, the wind. And the shroud. And Legolas' appearance. They all have a role in the horror that is coming in this story. The choice is yours if you want to dissect what is here. :: grin :: I won't make you. Personally, I love reading into a fic. I love seeing where the symbols arise and the significance of them as the story continues. It's a bit harder to do as a reader of a work in progress, so I'm a bit heavy-handed with them, but they are included for people like you who actually can pick them out. Thank you for your enthusiasm and support. I hope this story continues to please you.

_Lisette_ - I do agree about Paris. He would just lay there and whimper. Pathetic. What Helen saw in him beyond his good looks is a mystery to me. Were I her, I'd be wondering whom he was next going to bed. And vice versa. Neither of them were models of virtue. But I digress. Yes, we want the ones who are strongest to be the ones to feel the pain. I think it is a deep psychological penchant for those of us who like pain/comfort fics. A shrink might say it makes us feel more equal to our heroes. But personally, I like the idea of nursing them back to recovery. And the sound of a moan is very, _ahem_, exciting, you know.

_Leralonde - _Thank you so much for everything you said. I'm so glad you found this story compelling enough to read before it was done. This story will end in eight chapters, so we are half way there and I won't drag us on for months and months. The dream will be very telling for what is to come ahead. If you thought that was bad, wait until fantasy meets reality. Galadriel has a good reason to be angry, but Aragorn will redeem himself in the end.

_Sadie Sil -_ Thank you so much. Your review was short, but it made me as happy as the longer ones I received. I'm thrilled you took the time to let me know, and I hope you will continue to enjoy this story.

_Pheraearwen _- I had to take a break, though I wasn't really resting. I was actually working on this story and it took quite a bit of my time. I have another story I am working on now that I may or may not publish. It's a big one, and I'm rather undecided about the time commitment it is going to take me to write it for the public's viewing. Hence my plea for reviews above. Thank you for your encouragement. I hope this story continues to please.

_Myra the Archer -_ Poor Aragorn, indeed. Corrupting through love. Yes, you see it well. But this story is not a one-sided thing, even if it is told through Aragorn's eyes alone. Legolas _will _have a response. The Ring is working on him too after all. In the end, I'm hoping to show that love, true and untainted, can banish evil. As for the plant . . . :: wicked laugh :: it's baaaaaaaaaaack!

_Fliewatuet _- Well, Tolkien showed us that black denotes evil, so of course, to hold to that, the cape had to be black. It also had to be richly made (sable-lined like something royalty would wear) to convey Aragorn's rise to King. Freud would say the two things are related. Funny, isn't it, that in his dream he is draped in a cloak that symbolizes the power of rank, and as much as he rejects that idea in his waking hours, in his dream it feels good? Same for his rejection of the lusty feelings he has for Legolas. In the dream, they seems right, but in his waking hours he denies them. Now the question here is this, are the actions/images of the dream the makings of the Ring, or part of Aragorn's subconscious desires? Or maybe a little of both? Hmmmm.

_Kalima_ - Thank you so much for your comments and continued support. I'm thrilled to know the imagery is staying with you and the characters are coming alive. Insidious? Yes, that is the word I was looking for. Shoot! Unfortunately, ff.net does NOT make it easy to fix little mistakes like that (you think you have technology problems -- you should see me trying to upload a single chapter here). The mistake will likely stay. :: sigh ::. That's going to bother me now until I can fix it. Darn. But thank you for pointing it out. I'll fix it . . .soon (I hope).

_Rozzan _- Thank you again for your support. Are you still breathing? The next chapter is a huge pinnacle, a terrible drop, I think. Tighten your seatbelt. Here's where the horror really begins.

_Jenolas _- I'll bet you opened your eyes for this chapter. You may want to cover them again for the next one. It will get . . . not so good. You are doing a good job at analyzing Aragorn's psyche. He does have feelings and thoughts he would deny. In the end he will see how those can be used to protect him and Legolas. For now though, the Ring seems to be capitalizing on his denials. Thank you for hanging in there with me.

_Emerald Wolf -_ I don't like Legolas wimpy either. Simpering elves just grate on me. Legolas is a warrior and he will stays strong in this fic, though he will be a bit overcome in another chapter or two. One can only resist so much. My updates will come weekly, so you can count on getting your fix often. I'm so glad you chose to follow this story. Thank you for reviewing.

_Gil-neth_ - Gosh, thanks so much for your praise! Aragorn bad? Never! I adore him too much to make him bad. But I do know what you mean. I am following canon here so he will remain the noble Ranger Tolkien portrayed, which is what I think we both can appreciate. Further, I will make all right by these characters in the end. Aragorn is still a hero, despite what he does.


	5. The Captive Within

**A/N:** This is the last time I'll say it -- bad stuff ahead! VERY bad _slashy_ stuff! You've been warned.

  
  
**Heart of the Dream**   
_by Ithilien_

_Chapter Five: The Captive Within_

Aragorn's hands shook as he mixed the drink. He was nervous for so many reasons, not least of which was the idea that was dawning upon him, and winning favor in his mind. He understood why Gandalf had questioned him before. It was obvious the wizard had heard of the _galenolas_ plant though he might not have known of all its properties. But knowing even as much as he did, he was right to question Aragorn's reasoning. At first, indeed, all Aragorn had considered in suggesting its use was easing Legolas' pain. But the more he considered the drug and all its benefits, the more he thought to use it to its greater effect. Aragorn knew he had convincingly shown his concerns, and that had not changed. Legolas needed rest after his fall and injury. A head wound was nothing to make light about. And as a healer, he had a right to treat his patient, for his patient's good. Of course he had no intention of doing harm, but he knew that if he gave the dried form of the herb to their friend, it would force Legolas to rest. That was exactly the correct course of remedy.

Gandalf did not know this was the thought forming in the man's mind, and Aragorn thought perhaps it was better that way. In this, Gandalf would not be a knowing accomplice. He hated duping the old wizard, but at the same time, refusing treatment was a dangerous tact. In his heart he felt what he did came out of concern. In the evening when the entire party arose to resume their journey, Aragorn would admit his crime. There was little doubt that Legolas, or even Gandalf would be angered with him, but in time, knowing the amusements of the elves, he was sure he could lightly jest the situation away with Legolas (just as the elf teased the man about 'skulking'), and find forgiveness from the Istar. But the only way it would work was if Gandalf could convince Legolas to drink the potion.

The whole of the idea was sharp. Sleep would heal Legolas, and when they awoke all would be well again. Still, as clever as it might seem, Aragorn's hands shook almost uncontrollably, as if something within him were trying to prevent this from happening. But he could easily dismiss that, knowing well that a portion of his worries was just over the simple task of mixing the elixir properly. He had never done so before for an elf. He knew not the right quantities of the dried weed to give, nor if the infusion should be warm or cool. The paste was one thing for he had adhered to the treatment Elrond had shown him. But in this case, he was attempting to sedate the elf into a dream state using, what he had been taught was, a prohibited drug. So he decided to mix it as he would were he giving the pain remedy to a man, and used that amount as his guide. He opened his pouch as Gandalf's back was turned away in complete trust, and he found the dried leaves that he had carefully kept. Now he was not worried about the plant oils touching his hands, for the shriveled plant was safe for mortals in this state.

He crushed a small handful into his mixing bowl, pulverizing the leaves with his stone. The old wizard looked his way, and for good measure, just to make sure Gandalf did not suspect the incorrect ingredients, he added a few of the fresh leaves left from his earlier use into the bowl. He pounded the mix into what at first looked to be a pulpy concoction. But as he worked it, the texture smoothed, and soon it became a fine grind. He added water from his flask and mixed it until it was a pasty consistency. From there he added more water and stirred until he had made a tea-colored drink. He wished he had hot water, for he thought the medicine might have better effect if warmed, but they had not raised a fire for their sup that day, and he was left to work with only the cold.

He did not look up and was yet stirring the brew when he came to realize Legolas stood before him. He nearly dropped the bowl, so surprised was he to find the elf there.

Legolas' eyes sparkled brightly, mild amusement dancing over his pale face to see the man so caught off guard. But when the merriment faded, Aragorn could see again Legolas' pain.

The Ranger held out the bowl to the elf prince, surprised at the sudden ease he found in himself. The tremor in his hands was gone and he supposed it was his surety coming through that did this. "Perhaps you will drink this now?" he asked as he proffered the bowl while turning his eyes to the camp. He noted in his mind that Gandalf stood witness. And even the wizard was now turning, apparently satisfied that he and Aragorn had done their job and finding it well that he retire.

Legolas studied the bowl for a long moment before reaching out to take it. "This will do me no harm?" he asked, and Aragorn smiled.

"Do you not trust me, Legolas?" he asked, wincing slightly as he realized there was little reason that he should.

Legolas gazed at him, his eyes sharp, and then, calmly the elf said, "I believe in you, Aragorn," and the man felt himself choked by the familiarity of those words, so much like the dream, and also by the trust he was knowingly disregarding.

And then Legolas downed the medicine without question, smiling, as if he had had no argument in drinking the elixir. He cocked his head then, changing the flow of their conversation by announcing, as it were, in a very elven fashion, "I would like to wash the blood from my clothes and hair. There is a stream some yards past that rise," he pointed. Courteously he asked, "Would you keep my watch over the camp until I return?"

So quick did it come that for a moment Aragorn did not know what to say. "Leave?" he began, but knew he could not really object without giving himself away. He had, after all, volunteered to take the elf's watch for him. He nodded his head in consent, but said as he did, "Do not tarry."

A moment later he found himself quaking. The elf's back was turned and he was parting their company. _Leave the camp?_ He had not expected the elf would leave the camp!

Haphazard thoughts barraged him. Aragorn immediately saw all the possibilities. _He cannot leave!_How was Aragorn to know when the brew had taken effect? Was there not potential for greater danger if the elf should succumb when the Ranger was not about to aid him? What if the drug only had a half-effect? Legolas might blindly stumble into some new danger without even realizing it.

But what he could say or do to get out of the situation he did not know. If he spoke he would have to confess his duplicity and Legolas would be enraged. The camp would be in an uproar. They needed their rest, not more disruption.

Yet Aragorn had to stop him. He looked in the direction the elf had gone, but too late did it seem that he choose to renege. The elf was gone from his sight. Aragorn was left only with his regrets. He cursed himself. He should have refused to let Legolas out of his sight.

He vowed then that he would set this aright. His stomach turned as he considered how. He would venture out and carry the elf back to their camp if need be. But, much to his chagrin, what he must do first was wait. He must show his own faith and see if Legolas would return on his own.

Quietly he paced the perimeter of their camp, wholly unnerved, anxious and sick. He listened to the sleepy sounds of the others, envious of the oblivion his Fellows shared. The only other noise was the sparse chirping of birds in the vale and the cool whisper of the wind blowing over the lowland hills. It was eerily quiet otherwise, and that silence was daunting.

He watched the sky. Time was passing. It ate at him, devouring anything he had earlier shown of calm.

When the time had reached a half hour's passing, he could take no more. He left the camp in search of the elf.

Guilt again pricked at him. This was not the right thing to do, he truly knew. When on watch, no one left the site unless he had informed another. They were all to be accounted for, and one missing could be a disaster. But in this case, Aragorn felt it a poor decision to wake even one other, for then he would be made to account for what he had done, and Aragorn knew he would not feel good about his deception until the elf was safe and amongst the group again. Fortunately, the stream Legolas had said he was going to be at was near. With his sharp ears, the Ranger could hear the water's soft babbling in the distance. He felt, knowing his hearing was keener than that of most men, fairly sure he would be able to sense any noise that might come to the camp in his absence.

He set off on the path, headed toward the stream. He hoped Legolas had not wandered beyond that point, for then things truly would be grave. He was relieved to find a minute later that his thoughts had been heard. Coming over a slight hillock a mere minute later, Aragorn found Legolas kneeling before the stream.

However, not all was right in what he found. Legolas' hair was damp and it was obvious he had washed it. His tunic had been removed and a dry one was sitting at his side. The freshly laundered garment was held as a soggy lump within the elf's hands and all seemed well until Aragorn realized it was as a moment frozen in time. Legolas did not move. His eyes looked dreamy and he vacantly stared. Aragorn might have rejoiced then, thinking it only sleep were it not that Legolas' breathing came so rapidly. Clouds of heated air spilled from his friend's parted lips. It was as if he had come across the elf moments after some kind of strenuous exertion.

"Legolas?" Aragorn called, but there was no response. He took a step closer, crouching beside the elf. "Legolas?" he tried again, and this time, with a touch, his friend mustered.

"I feel warm," Legolas said, looking at Aragorn with dull eyes as he spoke. The words came as if they were a continuation of an earlier thought. They came as if the elf had thought Aragorn there all along.

Aragorn knew not what to say. He was dismayed to find the situation as this. So he chose instead only to act as if he had innocently come across his companion. "You are unclothed and there is a chill wind. You should not feel heated," Aragorn countered. He stretched out reaching for the elf's cape then.

The elf seemed to come to something of awareness in that moment. He gazed about, gulping on air. "What is this place?" Legolas asked, and he began to stand. He tottered as he rose, one leg buckling beneath him, and then the other.

Aragorn rushed to aid, but the elf found his balance in the man's arms and pushed away. Even with that, Legolas' feet were uncooperative. The wet tunic fell to the ground with a heavy slap, mud marking it where it had once been clean. Aragorn watched the elven prince as he took stumbling steps. He could discern no direction, and it seemed his friend turned toward no place in particular. "Where are you going, Legolas?" he asked, frightened by the elf's disorientation.

The question came out on a vaporous breath. "Is this a dream?" Legolas asked, pivoting on his heel and looking around him with a furrowed brow.

"Dream?" Aragorn asked, truly concerned now and coming forward to stop the stumbling elf from wandering further. Legolas' expression was of one truly lost.

He decided then he must have mixed the medicine improperly. Heated water might have been needed. Or perhaps the head wound had been worse than he had imagined? Or the dosage had been too high? Too low? Or there was a missing ingredient? Whatever wrong he had done, he had not thought the drug would cause the elf to react like this. "Yes, it is a dream," he said at last, feeling it easier at this moment to simply agree with his friend than to explain what had really occurred. He shook out Legolas' discarded cloak and started to wrap it around the thin figure.

"Warm to me," the elf stated, breathing too hard and throwing off the man's hands and the cape in a wave. Legolas' voice slurred on the words, like one who had imbibed too much drink. The utterance made the elf's vulnerability all that much more obvious and that made the scene feel somewhat like that of the dream.

He grabbed the elf's shoulders then, uncertain what else he could do to keep his friend still. "You need to rest. You are very tired. Stop moving about, Legolas," Aragorn said. Legolas looked at him and nodded. Then suddenly the long legs of his friend went out, and the man found himself catching what appeared to be the elf in a swoon. "Legolas," he cried out, surprised by this sudden collapse. In a smooth motion, Aragorn wrapped an arm about the torso of the elf. With the other arm, he dropped the cloak to the ground, and it fanned out in a smooth draping flow. Carefully, he lowered Legolas upon it.

" . . . 'is a dream," the elf panted. " . . . feels like . . . a dream. What is this place?" His body laid disheveled, arms splayed at his sides, and his eyes sought out slowly, as if searching for something. And then the elf attempted to push his body up again, essentially fighting against the man though he only fought with half-strength. Despite how Aragorn might have seen it, he had not imagined Legolas to respond to the drugging in this way. A sleeping elf -- that had been Aragorn's expectation. And for this reason alone, Aragorn was glad now that the elf had not returned to camp. The man would have had a very hard time confessing his deception were the others to see Legolas like this.

Still, he shook with shame. Truly was he fearful of both his friend's condition, and also for being found out for his part in doing such harm to him. It was a terrible miscalculation, and Aragorn pondered how he might resolve it. "Relax, Legolas," Aragorn soothed hoping the elf might yet fall still thus allowing the man to simply bring him back in a state of rest. That would be so much the better. "Be still. Lie still. Do not move. I am here to guard you now. Sleep."

The elf seemed to calm then, falling back, his eyes drooping into a slumberous state at just the suggestion of rest. However, though the elf's posture spoke of reverie, his breathing was yet heavy and his face showed still that lost look. Aragorn waited and watched, hoping the elf might find calm. But after a moment, Legolas seemed to stir again, his brow furrowing and his head twisting as if fighting off the effects put upon him.

_Does it wear off?_ Aragorn worried. _Perhaps that is why he acts so oddly._ And as if to foster his greater fears, the elf began to softly moan, pushing his head into the ground, as if reaching for something with only that part of his body.

"What is it, Legolas? What is it you are doing?"

"I want . . . " the elf whispered and then he lay still again.

Aragorn shuddered as he studied the elf. He felt panicked, sick for what he had done. The words stirred something in him that was reminiscent of days past. _That phrase._ What was there in that phrase? He felt he had lived this moment before, so familiar did it seem. Suddenly he realized what it was he knew. Aragorn's heart leapt into his throat. In the dream, Legolas had said those words! He had said them, and in much the same way as he uttered them here. _"I want . . ."_

Aragorn felt the sweat on his brow. His palms had gone clammy. This was not right. Was he being forced to live the dream? A sign was being shown him and he wished to flee it. He blindly grasped at anything that might free him of this horror. He leaned in closer, curious to know if -- hoping he might find that -- this too was just a dream. The saner part of him knew it was not, but he was on the verge of madness now, and he felt if the elf repeated the words to him as he had heard them in the dream, perhaps he might find this all somehow unreal. How he wished to find this just a nightmare. How he wished it!

"Say it," he said. "What is it you want?"

Legolas stirred again, licking his lips, though his eyes remained lost in reverie. He was sleeping it seemed. Was this the elf's dream? But Legolas also appeared to hear. His brow was pinched in something of mild suffering, soft whimpers caught within those panted breaths. He pushed again his brow and cheekbone into the solid earth, rubbing against it like a cat moving into the stroke of a petting hand though he otherwise remained still.

"What, Legolas?" the man prodded, growing impatient.

"Touch," the elf whispered. "Touch me . . ."

Aragorn nearly choked. "I . . . know not what you --" Aragorn began, truly embarrassed by the request. This was most definitely not as he had expected. This was indeed a nightmare.

Legolas rolled his head to the side. He looked distressed and needy. Breathy sounds whispered from his lips. "Touch. . . want . . . want . . . I need to _touch_. . . " the elf said, a longing sigh escaping him between those quickened breaths. To Aragorn's eyes, it appeared the elf was attempting on his own to achieve this suddenly desirable thing, only doing so without moving.

And then Aragorn remembered that he had told the elf to lay still. Was it because of that that Legolas seemed immobilized? Was Legolas commanded by his whim? He decided to test this theory. "Show me how you wish . . . to be touched, Legolas," the man said, feeling unseemly at even the request.

However, had he guessed his reaction to the elf's response, he might never have voiced even that, for the gesture to follow is what took him past himself and anything that resembled Aragorn as he had been known. He became a demon, a captive of his own dream, and everything of mores and duty were forgotten in the next minutes.

With the man's words, the elf's hands came to rise. They moved fluidly, graceful and poetic, long and strong, and Aragorn's eyes fixed on them as they had those few times before now. They lifted slowly, gently coming up to the long column of that neck. They stroked the white flesh there in a caress, grazing the surface with just the tips of those fingers. The elf's head lolled back. A moan sounded from the depth of his core. The sound of it was truly sensual and Legolas appeared to luxuriate in the touch, one hand stroking slowly down his bared chest, the other reaching up to run over that exquisite jawline, the cheekbone, about the temple. The elf's mouth parted, a soft sigh being breathed as slim fingers ran over those lips. Primal desire caused white teeth to gently bite the flesh of his own fingers. Aragorn felt his breath catch in his throat with that. And then he watched as the other hand ran downward, pressing firmer with the heel of the palm, sliding down the flat abdomen and moving on to lean thighs.

It was too much. The heat of Legolas' breath seemed to rise into the man's lungs. He found his chest constricting at the sheer beauty of the elf's actions. It was fabulous to behold. A seduction. Just those small movements were enough to drive the man to distraction, his mind refusing to think of anything beyond possessing the enticing vision.

He felt his own heat rise, his mouth salivate. He suddenly wished to be touched as well, to press small bites into flesh with his stirring arousal. His limbs longed to press into other limbs. He yearned to be coiled around that handsome body. He felt a scream of craving possession rising within his very body.

He wanted this . . .

Legolas sighed his relief, his breath shifting into pants. He could see the elf's pleasure as he watched the long body arc with the self-guided touches. A bulge was forming in leggings grown tight. And as Aragorn imagined those fingers running over his own flesh, he felt his body match that aroused state. He ached in his groin, suddenly longing to be free of constraints. His mind whispered on the edge of a dream. He wished for nothing more than to rub his body along the hardened flesh of the elf. A moan drifted from his throat at just the mere thought.

"Let me help you, Legolas," Aragorn offered the sleeping elf, and Legolas gasped in crooning pleasure as the man loosened the ties to his remaining garb. The cold was not bothersome as boots were pulled off and the leggings were shed. Aragorn sighed with contentment as he feasted on the body before him. Even in his dream, Legolas had not appeared so enthralling. The elf's body was a work of art. The man's eyes roamed the knotted tautness of muscles sculpted over sensuously long limbs. Aragorn hungered to devour ever inch of them, to possess them, to claim them his. His imagination lingered over the arching pleasures of the elf's stroking fingers, watching them as they kneaded the flesh at that muscular chest, stretching and groping for the yearning call in that heated groin. A hand coiled around the elf's passion, and Aragorn was very willing to imagine it his. A soft moan followed and then Aragorn's eyes were swept up to the passion-filled longing shown in the elf's eyes. Parted lips released a withering sigh as those yearning eyes rolled back, drifting closed in that joy as Legolas' craned and arcing body told of the unrelenting want. He wanted, it was plain to see, and in his need-filled moment, Legolas was perfection.

Bodily perfection. He would have it. He would claim it his. He would conquer the elf's need. He would claim it as he would claim his own want. The sheer beauty was irresistible. This was his.

He divested himself of his own raiment, suddenly impervious to the cold though he threw his own cloak over them. And all the while, he dared not let his eyes stray from the elf. Legolas writhed under his own touch, and the man found great pleasure in watching his elf perform thusly. His elf. "Slowly, Legolas." Legolas responded to him, obeyed him, and the man found great satisfaction in that. Something within Aragorn told him these actions were warranted. They were justified. He could be free of his worries if only he did this thing he yearned to do. In fact, it seemed pointless to even consider any other course of thought. That would be as one who felt guilt might do, and Aragorn was not feeling anything of guilt.

No, what he felt was hot, fevered. The pitch of his heart was increasing with every beat. His breath was heavy and rapid. His fingers shook in sheer ecstasy. But most intoxicating of all, the elf seemed to echo that sensation through a single word. "Warm," Legolas murmured, his eyes opening with the lazy refrain. The utterance pulled Aragorn over his limit. The word was as much in this reality as it was in the dream and it was like the key that opened the vault to his core.

He was upon the elf then. "Touch me," Aragorn ordered, and again there was compliance. The hands reached up and stroked along his torso, around to the back of his neck. Fingers slid into his hair, and over his cheekbone. The elf gazed at him, seeing him and not seeing him at the same time. It seemed Legolas was locked into his own desires, and Aragorn was but a small piece of that.

There were no regrets though. Aragorn dove in to the body beneath him. His lips hungrily crawled over the flesh. His hands greedily pressed over the elf's collarbones, nipples, while his mouth moved up to the neck and lobes. And Legolas moaned, returning the gestures, kind for kind.

Aragorn's heart surged with his passions. He wanted to consume all of the elf's body, sate his eagerness with everything he could acquire in this one sampling.

"Aragorn," Legolas gasped, and the man smiled, enjoying the sound of the elf calling out his name. "Aragorn," Legolas said again, but this time the word came out differently. It caused the man to freeze. It sounded more possessed, and Aragorn was surprised the elf had enough of himself to even realize the Ranger was with him, not as within a dream. "Aragorn, this is not right.

The man's mouth went dry. _No! No!_

Fleetingly he wondered if the drug was wearing off? Why else would Legolas resist? They were so near their peaks, and Aragorn was not ready for the moment to end.

Grasping to find a way to prolong the moment, he whispered into the elf's ear, "It is right, for it is but a dream, Legolas. Give in to it." As he spoke, he was surprised at how poised he sounded.

The elf eased back, gazing at the man, but not looking at him. The intensity of that elven stare seemed gone, and Aragorn felt the sense of power he had felt moments before return. Then Legolas spoke, his words sliding into smooth Sindarin as his face twisted into a frown. "Dare I believe . . . ? Is this dream . . . or truth? What wretched favors might be unleashed . . . were I to give?"

Impulse took over. The man's desires raged, piqued somehow by the elf's questioning. "Do not think it," he growled in a heavy pant, grinding his body into the elf. "Simply act." He was rewarded with a groan of pleasure from his companion. Then he leaned in closer, a wicked smile pressing his lips as he thought what he might wish. He whispered his thought into the elf's ear. "Tell me you want me," he commanded.

The elf smiled, almost laughing, and again this surprised the man. He felt unnerved by that self-possessed action. But then the smile disappeared, and the elf fell back into his needy gaze. Glazed eyes stared at him and breath came as short gasps. The aching need cried out. "I . . ." the elf began.

Aragorn's breath came faster. He knew what it would do to him to hear the words said. "Say it, Legolas," Aragorn encouraged. He felt so alive, so wanting. At the same time, the elf appeared so desirable, so wanton. The words would complete the moment. He yearned to hear them. He wanted to hear them as they had been said in the dream.

But what followed strayed from the dream's course. "I . . . want . . ." the elf said, but he was struggling. He twisted his head from side to side, and Aragorn blinked in disappointment. It was not rapture that spoke those few words. It was disavowal. Legolas was fighting off what Aragorn commanded he speak.

Such confusion struck the man.

But somehow that made the moment all the more exciting.

Amd then Aragorn came to see what was happening. He read and accepted it. It was a game. Lust and denial. Aragorn had heard of such sexual play but he had never thought to take it for himself. How deceptively wicked the elf was. He groaned in his pleasure at the idea. "Say it. Say it," he urged, feeling his excitement deepen with each pushing word.

"No," Legolas moaned, slurring the word. "'Tis wrong. It should not be as such."

Aragorn laughed then. Legolas would make a good game of this. _Deny me,_ he thought._ I will force you. _ Pain and pleasure. They were intertwined. "Say it!" Aragorn demanded, finding his heat growing greater as his anger welled forth.

"I . . . should not want . . ."

"Tell me that you want me!" Aragorn said huskily.

"'s wrong," the elf murmured, his words sliding together. But Legolas' body said another thing, pressing more fervently into the man's with each utterance of denial. He wondered if the drug did this -- heightened the elf's sexual yearnings. Whatever it was, the contrast between want and denial was exhilarating beyond anything Aragorn might have imagined, but too it made him want the words of the dream as well. He found himself growing more frantic for them with each refusal, but he was also enjoying the game at the same time. His peaking pleasure was tied to that one statement and he felt he would never be released of this until he heard the elf say the words in this reality. He loved how Legolas was prolonging the game by withholding them.

Aragorn sat up, pushing the elf away, his grip strong as he held those hands down. Sternly he looked down upon the elf, laughing inside but terse outwardly and he demanded it again, loudly this time. "Say it!"

Legolas whimpered a soft moan, derived, Aragorn supposed, from the play of brutal give and take. The man could not imagine how he had lived without realizing how much pleasure he could get in this game of sexual torture. Legolas appeared incredibly vulnerable before him, his eyes glazed beyond true sight, his movements languorous and becoming. He was enticing to behold in this state. Rapturous and beguiling. Such supreme power Aragorn had over that fair creature. And yet the elf had power over him as well for there was one more thing the man would have. The elf's hips came up, legs parting in invitation, and Aragorn wanted it. He wanted that. He growled as he urged his body into that most private place. "You know you want this."

"No . . . " Legolas moaned, and the man laughed darkly, enjoying the sweet pleasure of the elf's outward denial in contrast with his body's even more apparent true want.

Ecstasy loomed on the other side of the phrase. "Tell me you want me," he commanded again, but Legolas pushed at him, shaking his head.

"No, no . . . please, Aragorn . . ."

Aragorn so enjoyed his position and he forced his voice to grow angrier, experimenting with the thrill it gave him while he pressed himself into the vulnerable reaches to the elf. "Do not defy me!" It was a threat.

" . . . cannot," Legolas sobbed.

Aragorn laughed. He pierced him.

The elf cried out in pain. The hurt was Aragorn's as well, but he was too far driven by the pleasures derived in that hurt to focus long on it. He could have laughed again for the joy of this evocative torment and the pinched expression of ecstasy and pain he saw conjoined on the elf's face.

"Say it! Say it! Say it!" Aragorn screamed into Legolas' ear, but the elf only turned his head away, his face locked in a grimace.

And then Aragorn's body exploded, the horrible, tremendous, delicious rush riding over him, weakening him, sickening him, invigorating him. He cried out with the heady gasp of wicked pleasure, an incoherent sound barreling from his chest. Beneath him, vaguely he heard the elf cry out words he could not decipher, hands weakly pushing at him. But the man was too caught up in his own climactic resolution to notice much beyond the wave of sensation. Zenith lights flashed behind his closed eyes. He gulped on his caught breath. He was buoyed by a release of pure urgency unlike any he had ever experienced before. As if floating in a tumbling world of churning waves, he relinquished himself to the pinnacle of his rapture. He was spent, purged of his lust, but fevered yet still by the heat of his arousal.

After a long minute, he sat up, not realizing until he regained his senses that he had collapsed against Legolas. A sticky fluid covered his belly, and rubbing it into his flesh, Aragorn realized this was a remnant of the elf's orgasm.

It gratified him somehow to know that Legolas had found release as much a necessity as had the man. Pain and pleasure. But then he gazed upon the elf's face.

Legolas appeared to be sleeping with eyes shut, but his dreams were not calm. The elf's brow screwed up into a subtle frown, and the outline of a tear streaked his cheek. The caught sound of a moan could be heard in the elf's slowing breath accompanied by a small shiver. A sense of dread seemed to loom about him and Aragorn's perceptions of what had seemed to be pleasure suddenly shifted. His gut tightened as he looked at the pale face below him, realizing it was not sleep but serious ill that kept his friend's eyes sealed.

A wind came up then. It tugged fiercely against him, and the cape was blown away. The chill snatched him, and he felt it twine around his body. All was exposed and the sun shone down upon him.

Aragorn's heart lurched in sudden shock as he saw at the aftermath of what had happened. The scene was not pretty. There was something maimed in the elf's skewed body. Legolas lay limply before him, as if cast aside in his use. And then it occurred to Aragorn that this was his to claim. This ugliness belonged to him. A plaintive cry rasped out of his chest as he snatched at the tatters before him, trying to make Legolas back into that perfection he had been.

_What have I done? _he thought as he blindly reached for the bruised and ragged elf._ By the Valar, what have I done?_

  
**TBC**   
  
  


**A/N:** Again, I must thank all the wonderful people who reviewed this last chapter. Can you see me smiling? I am!

For those folks who generally lurk, I understand. I tend to lurk myself. But I'm trying to mend my ways. And as is typical of me, once I try to better myself, I tend to want to get everyone in on it. Thus, I come forward with a message. Here goes:

Won't you, by sending a review, hug an author today? I'm not saying this for me, but for all fanfic writers. Just pick an author, any author whose story/stories you are following. Offer them a kind word or two, perhaps just a "thank you" if you can't find anything else to say. Trust me: even that will bring them a smile. Perhaps it might even encourage them to write more and FASTER. And you'll feel good too for having done something kind.

That's my fanfic service announcement for the day. ::smile:: You may now return to your regularly scheduled reading.

  
  


**Response to Reviewers**

_Val - _Thank you so much. I'm a fan of the darkness. Shadows can really stir the imagination, don't you think? Think of ghost stories around a campfire . . . they're just not the same told some place out in the broad daylight.

_Peace - _I'm keeping to a weekly schedule, so this shouldn't see you waiting long. And the story concludes at eight chapters, so it should be an easy enough commitment to make. Thank you for your encouragement.

_Bookworm 303 - _Gee, thank you! If I can't imagine Tolkien's characters doing or saying these things, I don't use them. I'm glad you find everyone as they were written by the master. I'm trying so hard to keep it to canon.

_JastaElf -_Ooh, a two-fer! Thank you! I DO understand the circumstances. Knowing what I do, I truly appreciate your attention directed this way. We've got quite a few orders for angst in the kitchen right now, but I think I can get you another serving before the story is done. Your lust and immorality are up though. Watch out, they are very hot. You'll be needing these extra napkins too. I'll have the guilt out in the next chapter. Enjoy!

_Kalima -_Copy editor, eh? I should have known. Well, keep giving me your edits, and if the server is being nice to me when I'm done, I'll incorporate them all at once. I do appreciate your looking out for them. I, however, am not a musical person, so I had no clue about the big breakthrough in G minor. I like that the music fits this story. No, stay away from those happy tunes. I think we need grim music until the end. Bach, maybe. Then something melodic and soft -- flutes, I think, but not sprightly like Vivaldi. That would be too chipper. Suggestions? As for the vision, it was two chapters back, when Aragorn suddenly felt that Legolas was going to be lost to them if he wandered off alone. Sorry I didn't make that clear. I'll take that up too when I go back in with your edits.

_Leralonde_- I'm afraid Legolas' thoughts will have to remain enigmatic for the moment, though I do intend to expose him before I'm done. I didn't think it was quite right yet, in this part of the Quest, for the members of the Fellowship to be baring their souls. There is still a bit of reserve about them, and especially in the elves. Few of them, though maybe the Hobbits, would be willing to tell of their true feelings and hearts at this point. Give it time.

_Nightwing_- That would be the tea. And as you see, the results are disastrous. Delicious, but disastrous. It was indeed the beginning of the true horror, and in the next chapter Aragorn gets to deal with the aftermath. I'm glad you liked Gimli's advice. It was sound, but it was very difficult to get my Aragorn muse to listen to it. In the end, he did what he wanted, but he let the Gimli muse say what he had to anyway. They both stayed in character that way.

_Templa Otmena -_I went and read your bio after your last review. I think you and I both cut from the same cloth. My LOTR passion has gotten me in trouble on Real Life Important Thing(tm) more than once too. I hope you continue to enjoy the characters. We'll be seeing more of Boromir in the next chapter. Don't stop reading into this story. It is laden with symbols for people _just like you_. Why? Because I like them.

_Lisette -_Somehow, I don't see you feeling the least bit sorry that Legolas is all drugged and helpless, especially when you follow that comment with a "yum". I'd smack your wrist except I would have to smack mine as well; your thoughts are my thoughts exactly. However, I hope this last chapter didn't scare you away. It was a bit, um, brutish, but hopefully, everyone stayed modestly in-character, or at least in-character for what they've been building to.

_IMTrinity _- Ah, there you are! I thought I had lost you. Thank you so much! ::blushes:: And thank you for coming back for more. I hope this last chapter doesn't scare you away for good though.

_Elfdancer_- Gosh, thank you! I am pleased you are enjoying it. I love details, too much sometimes, but I really feel like they round out a story and bring the reader into the setting. Aragorn is going to learn soon that what he thought he knew of Legolas is not the whole of the picture. He might be able to predict his friend's actions, but he doesn't really know Legolas' heart. That will come though.

_Emeraldwolf _- I believe in the roller coaster ride mentality in storytelling, and I try to apply it in my tales as much as I can. Zigs and zags and ups and downs make for an interesting ride. Solid plunges are fine too so long as that's not the only part to it. Solid plunge, then lurch and drag, a little pause, then another plunge . . . woohoo! Now that's a ride! (Can you tell I'm a coaster fanatic from way back?)

_Zanzou Youko_- You're a fan of theringmakespeopledothingsfics? Really? Me too. I don't think there are really enough of them actually. I'd love to see more. I'd love to see a fic about some of the Other Rings and what _they_ could do to an unsuspecting fellow. Oops, I just let out a plot bunny. Tolkien was a wonder in all the marvelous devices he created, but I think the Ring was the best of them. Look at all who fell under its spell. I mean, goodness, if the Nine Rings he gave to men turned them into wraiths, why wouldn't the granddaddy of all the Rings make a person have creepy thoughts just by being in its presence?

_IceAngel7 -_Oh, I'm thrilled to see you here! I'm sorry there is no Faramir in this story, but then, if there were, we'd _really_ be in AU territory. I'm glad this is inspiring, even though I'm not sure I'm a very good example to follow. But hey, it's a skewed narrative pov, so ::giggle:: follow away. Another reviewer remarked that they wanted to know Legolas' feelings, but as I said there, these are the first steps of the journey, and Legolas hasn't revealed much of himself yet. The only thing we know of him is that he is helpful and upbeat and watchful, and even later in the tale, I'm not sure anyone but Gimli really comes to know him. I'm glad the distance is coming through.

_Mercredi _- I've been having lots of connection problems too. Seems my ISP doesn't like FanFiction.net anymore, and so the email bots won't come through for me. What a disappointment to put out a chapter and then get no responses. The only thing that makes up for it is logging into the site and seeing there are a bunch of reviews waiting. Thank you for yours. I'm glad you liked the slippery slope metaphor -- into a cloudy world that presses in on all sides, choking the breath from him no less. I love arcing metaphors.


	6. The Red Stain

**Heart of the Dream**  
_by Ithilien_

  


_Chapter Six: The Red Stain_

He stood over his victim like one standing over a terrible foe and he could feel the demon laughing within him, loving this moment. He could see through eyes that enjoyed finding Legolas in this maimed state and he was simultaneously appalled. All his denials and proud assurances that he could withstand the Ring's doing had been for naught. He could feel a wicked satisfaction for having done this to Legolas and he shivered with the knowledge that this was a part of him. The creature within him did not care that he had hurt.

_What have I done?_he asked as he saw anew the naked elf. Compassion fought its way forward and he could see the marks from where his hands had kept the other down. He saw the pale color of the elf's skin, those sealed eyes. He saw the shortness in Legolas' breathing. Whereas before it seemed the elf was breathing too quickly, now it seemed he breathed too little. He noticed then that Legolas' hands were clenched into tight fists over his chest.

_I have defiled! . . . I have raped!_

Recognizing this, Aragorn felt sickened by the realization of his cruel sin. His body was slick with sweat and he smelled of sex. A wave of nausea roiled through him. The physical reminders were vile proof of just what an atrocity he had committed. He felt disgust for the filth he found attributable only to him. He shook as he choked on his repulsion, stumbling backwards though never breaking his eyes away from the elf's sundered body. His steps backed him into a shrub, and as he scraped along its thorny branches, he knew he could not stomach his crime. He turned then, breaking his eyes away from the sight as he emptied his gut, collapsing to the ground. The bile spilled from him, burning his throat as it passed.

On hands and knees he said it, hovering over his sickness like a beast, "Legolas," he sobbed. "No . . . no!" His voice was coarse, grating, like the sound of a rasping bark. The acrid taste left in his mouth was a bitter poison, like that of the spitting toxins of a venomous creature. He was a lowly being, worthy of nothing.

Off-balance and tripping on his feet as if he was unsure how to stand on them, he staggered back to Legolas, knowing he could not flee this moment. His friend was irreparably damaged, and it was his fault. "I am sorry! I am sorry!" he stammered, his voice yet rough. Mortification was striking him like a whip across his back. He was a betrayer, a monster! He bowed his head to his shame.

On a sob, he plucked at the elf with feeble hands, uncertain in his mind how to revive his companion but feeling somehow he must do something. He gently nudged the fair elf but received nothing of a response. And with that he felt his despair grow into panic. What consequences would this have? ". . . Legolas . . ."

He wanted an answer, but the elf did not speak. It seemed Legolas' eyes only sealed tighter with the call of his name and Aragorn felt a howl of this true horror coming to form in his throat. The wail of a wind came to rise, and he thought then to lift his voice and join it. But he did not, for he knew were he to do so he might never stop. He might never regain himself.

Ineptly he shook Legolas with more vigor then, hoping brute force might wake him if sorrow and concern could not. _What have I done?_

His hands trembled wretchedly as he fumbled again with the elf, noticing now the blue tinge that was shadowing Legolas' lips. The archer's skin seemed to be growing more pale. Shocked and dumbfounded, something almost unreachable in the back of his mind told him to take possession of himself, told him to check the elf's pulse and to do _something_. For a moment he could not connect those thoughts, the ideas seeming foreign to him, like words spoken in another language.

But then he remembered how this was done, regaining the use of his hands and putting his two fingers to the base of Legolas' throat where he knew a heartbeat could be felt. He did it, though it took even longer for him to realize what benefit such an action might have. But then he remembered that too and began to compare what he knew should have been there with what was. Elves had swifter heartbeats then men under normal circumstances. But here, when he counted, he found the pulse to his own heart far greater than Legolas'. Aragorn's fears doubled then as he realized what was happening and his mind finally found the words to put this to terms.

_He is dying . . . He is fading! _

Tears filled his eyes for the sheer helplessness of the situation, for he knew a truth few men ever learned. There was a weakness at the core of elves that made them both greater than men, and less simultaneously. So great was their love, so deeply did they feel, that their hearts could not repel the ache of their sorrows and joys. They loved far beyond anything of men -- so far that it was like the heights of an eagle's flight. And at the same time, the depth of their misery was as low as an abyss. That they hid both so well was the most astounding part of them, and Aragorn knew that on the surface one could barely tell the reaches of an elf's heart. And yet, despite their physical strength and superb cunning, elves were vulnerable in that most valuable organ, finding pity and love too easily. They could die if they were too exposed to the pain of hardship and heartbreak. Manipulations and hurts to the soul, something so typical in the dark side of men, could break them. And he knew they only gave their bodies in the act of love alone.

Men were so much different. Men could survive the defilement of rape and scorn by burying their pain and their anger, or even using it to lash out. But elves lost all interest in this world when their souls were marred. Elves could not live with the memories of their hurts. They faded under the agony of their sorrow.

A tear fell from Aragorn's eye then and spattered upon the cheek of his friend. He quickly brushed it away, finding he could not stand the thought of leaving another bit of evidence of his marring existence upon his friend's body. He stroked at Legolas' hair, brushing away the bits of dirt and leaf that had mingled there. He smoothed the skin over the brow, willing away the sorrow that seemed so prevalent, and he bowed his head to something greater than him. He could never meet the quality of the one he had harmed. He knew he had caused this. He knew the act of the rape had done this to his friend. His knowledge of the greater truth overwhelmed him and he wept softly for the bitterness of it. He wondered if now he would be witness to Legolas' death?

Aragorn saw doom eating at the features of Legolas' pained face. He had driven in the blade. He had scored the mighty blow. The monstrous warrior within him had won.

But as he leaned back and collected himself, he knew he must try to do something of healing. _The hands of the king . . ._ Compassion yet lived in his soul. That was something he could hold to and claim as his part. He could use it to banish the monster that yet hovered near.

"Fight this, Legolas! Do not let it take you. You are stronger than this," he said through gritted teeth while he furiously wiped away his own tears.

The elf sighed a deep breath as if he earnestly did try. And then an idea struck Aragorn.

Ironically, it was at this moment that he realized a truth he had not accepted before. _This was why Elrond had forbidden the use of galenolas._He knew now the possibilities available to anyone who would choose to abuse it. Elrond's rage at the mention of the herb made sudden sense. Misuse upon an elf could be fatal. The Ring had known this and it had planted the idea of its use long ago. How he had missed something that was so blindingly obvious he did not know. Had the Ring guided his hand in plucking those samples so many days back? Yes. He realized it had.

And with that realization, he came to see that the Ring had also put into his mind the notice paid to Legolas' physical beauty. Was it to ascertain the depth of Aragorn's true feelings for his friend? He held to his heart as he inwardly declared that Legolas was his friend first, even now. But, for his part, he knew there had been more than just friendship to their bond. To deny that now would truly be foolish. He could not have done what he had done were there simply amiable feelings. But in all things, one need not act on feelings. That is, unless the Ring were toying with one's soul. There had been a physical attraction to Legolas on his part, and the Ring had taken that and distorted it to Its advantage.

But It could not claim victory. Not yet. It had accomplished Its goal and had warped his thoughts to manifest these actions. For what purpose he still could not determine, but here in the aftermath he would soon come to see. That is, if he allowed it.

Aragorn sprang to his feet then, suddenly feeling the cold more vigorously as the shock of what had occurred began to settle into his mind. He was a healer, he realized, and he had to tend to this wicked wound. The Ring wanted him to assume a role of control? Very well, he would do so now!

The Ring had put Legolas upon him in this condition, and it had done so in order to expose the weakest point of Aragorn's soul. It had made his friend pliant and weak and willing through the use of this drug, and It had succeeded in coercing Aragorn to act upon his darkest whims. But perhaps the Ring had not considered the opposite side of this manipulation. Perhaps it did not realize that _he_could use the _galenolas' _intoxication to the better good. Perhaps it did not realize _he_might do something to take advantage of the situation.

That did not mean that he liked the idea. Truly he felt sickened to realize he would be manipulating his friend yet again. But he also knew he could not let the opportunity pass. He had to do this while the drug was still in his friend's blood, and he did so for the sake of Legolas more than for any other purpose. Bending closer he whispered words softly into the elf's ear, fully aware of what he was doing. Legolas again moaned as Aragorn pressed his hope, praying he might remedy their situation with Legolas' belief in these words.

"Your memory of all of this is nothing but a dream."

He noticed then, as if for the first time. his own state of undress. He fumbled about awkwardly, refastening his stays and grooming himself into his ordinary appearance. And then once done, he focused again on Legolas. He gathered up what he could to make the scene right. Hurriedly, he wiped away what fluids remained on the elf's body with a moistened corner of his dark cloak, noting as he did that there was little blood evident. At least he could give thanks for that. He had hurt, but he had not substantially damaged, though he could hardly claim he had been gentle.

Still, the touch of his hands there, the pain that he had caused, and perhaps the violating memory that was a remnant to this disastrous event caused Legolas to utter a soft cry.

"None of this is real. It is all a nightmare's end," he said again and again. Tears fell from his eyes as he spoke and his voice came out broken and quaking, but he did not stop. "No true harm has come to you," he added as a quivering note, punctuating each pained murmur he caused in his ministering.

All the while, he cleaned the elf with his gentlest touch. And then finding his mending complete, he rose and gathered up the elf's discarded clothing. The spare tunic he used, not bothering with the sodden and mud-stained one, leaving it where it lay. And as he did this, Legolas remained pliant and unmoving. In fact, he seemed too still, and the man suddenly feared the worse. But at the touch of his fingers to that pulse point he found that Legolas' heartbeat was actually stronger, though weaker than it should have been. Aragorn comforted himself in the knowledge that the physical evidence was hidden and his friend appeared to be recovering. That did nothing to quell the man's true worries though. What if these utterances did not work?

His eyes scanned the body before him, assuring himself all was right. Over boots and leggings, tunic and belt, Aragorn checked that all were in place. And then he jumped back as he reached his friend's chest and then face. Legolas was staring at him.

He realized then that the elf was awake. Aragorn gulped on his surprise, but he realized then it was hardly awareness for which the elf had achieved. The archer gazed at him lazily, bleary eyes trailing over the man. Legolas' brow furrowed in dull sorrow and there was a word slowly drawing out from his lips.

"Ar . . . Aragorn . . .?" Legolas began, his voice a slurred sound. His skin seemed so very, very pale.

"I am here," the man eagerly replied, drawing himself up to be near.

"Hurts . . ." the elf said, narrowing his eyes to something that anguished him.

Aragorn's heart stood still. He could taste his own fear.

He spoke in a panic, bending down, his hands hesitating before touching to stroke the lines away from the elf's creased forehead. "No, no. 'Tis nothing. Ignore this trifle ache," he stammered, feeling lost as he looked into Legolas' dull eyes. It was not the same to say these words when his friend could see him, and his confidence was diminished. But he knew he had to remain sure. Hope that the drug's effect was still great enough to influence the elf's perceptions held strong as he looked upon Legolas' bewildered expression.

Tears leaked from Legolas' eyes and the sound of a small sob spilled out with his words. "How . . . you. . . ?" Legolas weakly managed to say, shaking his head slightly to emphasize his confusion.

The words gained power as Aragorn absorbed this horror. He knew what Legolas was asking. But his own stamina came to meet his fear, as if he were fighting a foe. He spoke with more conviction, feeling certain he must hide the real truth from the elf, for he knew the truth could kill. If Legolas accepted the pain, if he accepted his defilement, he would die! "The pain is but that from the fall. That is all," he whispered on a choked sob. He had tried to make his voice steady and sure. He was uncertain though how it had really come out.

The elf stilled slightly. "But you . . . " Legolas began, his brow pinching into uncertainty.

His heart racing in drumming fear, Aragorn countered his true feelings with visible calm. "Minor hurt. Minor ill. All in a dream. Nothing is real," he cooed, softly stroking the worry from his friends forehead.

The archer's eyes glazed, and Aragorn felt a sudden urge to cradle and protect the elf. Legolas' brow softened as he seemed to fall into a spell of believing. "Not real . . . " he half-questioned, half-confirmed. His eyes grew unfocused as he said this.

Aragorn urged him on. "Rest. You are so very tired. This is all a dream..." And indeed the elf's eyelids grew heavy as the man whispered his influence into his friend's ear. Finally Legolas grew still under his sooth. He seemed to sleep.

Aragorn released a trembling breath. Still he spoke, yet hoping the words might find a home in the elf's mind with his continued repetitions. "'Tis a dream. You must believe in me. It is only a dream."

But would that be enough? A subtle voice inside his head spoke.

_He would not let me help him when the avalanche occurred and, despite the drug, he resisted me in the moment of our pleasures. Why should I think anything I offer would be enough now? He will resist me again, and I will be left with his blood staining my soul. He is too noble and pure to be held sway to my petty maneuverings._

Too true, and therefore Aragorn could not take for granted that the situation was controlled. The voice grew louder in his head, and he hearkened to its wisdom.

_He will die if he comes to know, for I took him without his consent. He would never consent to this, even in a dream. And should he expose me by crying out, all will know. Arwen will know. _

Yet how could it be prevented? He knew of no way other than this remedy of untruths to prevent the despicable event from being discovered.

_The fact is that there is another way. _

He stood back and looked upon the fallen elf. Legolas was completely defenseless in this state, and it was a horrible sight to see. He knew what Legolas should be, and at the heart of the matter, he did not know if that could really be restored.

_I could kill him._

Death would silence the elf, and too it would free Legolas from his misery. Indeed that might actually be the merciful thing to do. Aragorn could simply blame the elf's unexplained death upon the fall. He could say it was due to complications. Surely no one who had set out on this perilous journey could expect them all to come out unscathed. Still, an elf would not get up from a fall if he were gravely hurt. Legolas would not die of a minor wound. A lesser fate than death in battle could not be attached to him. Aragorn dismissed the idea immediately, surprised that he could even think it.

_But there is yet another way._

Another way? There was something in the way this was put that made the thought worth considering.

_If I had the Ring, I could control Legolas' words AND his heart._

He knew he should be appalled, but his mind considered the vision of such a thing.

_Should I take It, this Quest would be unnecessary. I could claim my place as Isildur's heir and I would have fulfilled the destiny put upon me. And then I could right Middle-earth and I could see the Ring destroyed on my own terms, when the world in its entirety was made well._

It said much that he would even think this, but the thought was indeed tempting. Not only would he be able to quickly dismiss this incident, thus saving his friend, but he could also take the role he was meant to take. He would have everything. He would have Arwen. But then another voice competed.

"Ultimately she would be unhappy. I could not bear that. It would be dishonest."

Blinking himself out of his stupor, he realized it was his own voice that had spoken aloud this last argument and he realized it was the Ring that had been speaking prior. It had been roaming in his thoughts, attempting to control him. Again.

His anger exploded.

"Is that how you do it?! You manipulate me to the point of desperation?! You force me into a crime and then you woo me with the possibilities you might offer to undo the marring?" he cried out, knowing there was no one for whom to direct his hatred except himself. He wondered how he could not have recognized it before. "That was your plan all along, was it not?"

It was too much, and he felt on the verge of hysterics. He looked down on his hapless victim. Legolas had not reacted in any way to these spiteful shouts. The elf's troubled expression remained, despite this sleep, and Aragorn knew this horrendous crime had been put upon him to make him watch his friend die.

_With the Ring I could save him. _

What cruelty this was!

He looked out absently over the landscape, wondering what he could do. But he answered outright, knowing one choice he could never take. It was to the Ring that he spoke the biting words. "I will never give in. I will never take You willingly! You may have made something of me that is villainous, but I will be no accomplice to You!" He bent down to Legolas lifting and cradling him as he wanted to before, and he continued to speak. "True it may be; You have left me a criminal, but I will not let that persuade me to seek further sinful influence by You. You will be destroyed! I shall see it done! I am not your pawn!"

But even those words did not free him.

_Do not be so sure._

He felt the struggle the Ring made to regain his soul, and he knew the sway was just as great now. His demon was trying to rise to the surface again and thoughts of ending this present situation rolled through his imagination. The Ring was refusing to relinquish him to his own goodness of soul.

It was a battle now, but he held to his heart. As he drew Legolas into his chest, he held onto love. He willed the deepest of his feelings, his truest devotions to the surface, and he kept them there so the Ring could not further harm them.

Again he looked upon the elf, feeling far more compassion for the fading being than ever before. "Legolas," he softly called, almost sobbing, but the elf did not awaken. He checked again the elf's pulse and found it stronger. That encouraged him, but he was nowhere near ready to rejoice. Yet, it was heartening. Perhaps his suggestive prompting had worked. Perhaps Legolas had relegated all to a dream.

_And if he has not? He will die, you well know._

Aragorn shook his head, forced again to this issue. What choice had he? The dream he had put into the elf's head was a weak attempt to save. It was tenuous at best. But if Legolas believed it, he might live. And that was more solution than anything else. The truth, which Aragorn would confess if he could, was a fatal route. Still, dealing in dishonesty, Aragorn hated this path. But he saw the truth of speaking forthright was a darker road still.

"Aragorn?"

The man jumped in startled surprise. He had not heard anyone coming, for he had been completely caught up in his dilemma. At the turn of his head he saw Boromir standing on the far side of the clearing.

"Aragorn, what are you doing here?"

The man stiffened, his guilt at being found forcing him to suffer deeper humiliation and fear. He suddenly knew not what to say, gaping at the man, then back at the elf. If he had words he might give, they were lost.

But Boromir's eyes locked onto the elf, paying no heed to the man's inarticulate state. "What has become of Legolas?" he demanded as he quickly stepped forward to kneel before the felled pair.

Aragorn flinched for a moment, afraid that being seen holding the elf would evoke the true defilement put upon his friend. "I -- I cannot rouse him," he lied.

The man's face showed terrible concern. "Legolas?" Boromir called, laying a hand upon the elf's shoulder. There was no answer. "Legolas," he tried again a little louder, and the elf mustered a moan.

Aragorn's heart quickened further just as Boromir gasped. He had not known if Legolas indeed would awaken, and he wondered if the elf's pliable state of mind remained. What if Legolas awoke only to disclose what had occurred?

"Come, Legolas," Boromir urged, softly smiling. "Awake."

Aragorn's heart thundered as Legolas' brow furrowed and the elf stirred to wakefulness. To his great relief, and also his great fears, the elf's eyes came open and he looked about him. He most definitely was not fully conscious then, for he appeared uncertain, blurry-eyed, and Aragorn ventured that his friend might have trouble even recognizing who his companions were.

"Legolas?" Boromir called, looking now upon Aragorn for an explanation of this strange turn in their friend.

And then it seemed Legolas suddenly came to realize his place and time, and he jerked, trying to sit upright. He gasped, jutting a hand out as if a pain permeated his body.

"Ai, you are in pain! Let me help you," Boromir offered, and white-faced Legolas nodded as he again tried to rise.

Boromir and Aragorn both put an arm about to help the elf sit upright. In a whispering soft voice the elf asked, "What . . . ?"

"Tell me you feel no pain," Aragorn commanded, interrupting. It was a test to see if the effect of his words through the drug was still present. He was terrified Boromir would fix on the signs of injury, and that more questions would follow.

"I feel no pain," Legolas complied, his eyes growing momentarily unfocused as he answered.

A soft smile crept over Aragorn's face then, and he felt a small thrill of victory in this. He could do this. He could beat the Ring at its own game. He could cover the misery he had caused.

Then Boromir asked the next question and Aragorn raced to find an answer. "Do you remember what happened, Legolas?"

Aragorn planned his next words then, thinking to dissuade queries beyond the obvious. He told himself he did so to protect Legolas. With compassion, he would say that Legolas had fallen ill and had suffered from the head wound and he would phrase it so that Legolas could agree with every word.

But what poured from him were not words of his choosing. "I will tell you what happened," Aragorn said in a low growl. "He fell asleep during his watch!"

What was this? He flinched away from the words as if they had struck. They had not come out as anything he had intended to say. How cruel he had sounded! And suddenly his plan had gone awry once again. The idea -- to make Legolas think any recollection he might have had was a dream -- was buried beneath the anger in his words. He had never intended to make Legolas feel inept or like a failure in his duty. Blame had no place in the elf's recovery. It only clouded the situation.

Boromir bristled at the slight, easily reading the injustice Aragorn had foisted on their friend. "Have you no compassion?" the Gondor man objected. "He suffered an injury! There is no reason to shame him!".

But Legolas' brow furrowed as if attempting to accept his incompetence in his altered state. "I am sorry," he softly said under the weight of his woe.

Putting a hand to the elf's shoulder Boromir said with sincere concern, "You were hurt, Legolas. That is not your fault. Do you recall? You did not fall asleep on duty, but instead you fell ill. You were found alone here in the wilds."

Aragorn felt humiliated. Boromir's compassion and concern had been what he had wished to convey. Instead he had evoked blame. Why? Why had he been unable to say words that he thought might have helped? Still, in asking these questions, he knew the answer. The Ring still tried to control him.

He willed it away, holding onto his love yet again. Renewed with a caretaker's concern, he looked again at the elf, trying to remedy his scornful words. "Do you think you can rise, Legolas?" he asked, outwardly apprehensive, but trying to show compassion. Dumbly, Legolas nodded, but in the attempt to rise, he winced. Aragorn knew the cause, but Boromir seem to accept the jerkiness in the elf's stiff movements as those caused by a fall. Aragorn came up beside him then, helping Legolas to stand. And then together they took their first stumbling steps. As the path widened they were able to walk three abreast.

The elf paid little attention to either of them now, and Boromir looked to Aragorn. "Legolas' eyes are strange." He paused a moment, as if studying the elf, and then he commented, "Has he been concussed?"

Aragorn shuddered slightly as he considered the question, but then he nodded, for it seemed the easiest explanation for the elf's current behavior. "He should have taken the rest I offered him," Aragorn replied. He could hear the disdain in his own voice though that had never been his intent.

A frown crossed Boromir's lips and Aragorn could see he did not approve Aragorn's foul mood. "I heard shouting," Boromir said, as if reminded this by Aragorn's terse answer. "Were you yelling at Legolas?"

Aragorn felt his cheeks flush, but he knew his excuse had already been given. "I could not get him to wake," he plainly stated.

It seemed it was Boromir's turn to be confused. "But how did you come to find him?"

Ignoring that the elf was between them, Aragorn answered, "He never came on duty. He went to bathe, but never returned." He glanced at Legolas to see if he would be contradicted, but the elf appeared not to notice, his apparent attention focused more on stepping aright than on anything they might say. In fact he leaned so heavily upon both men that Aragorn wondered if he was even aware so much of their presence.

"Why did you not wake me then?" Boromir countered. "You should have informed me that you were leaving the camp in pursuit. I was the next up on watch. Had anything happened to you," he said, nodding at the elf to include him in the statement, "no one would have known where to find you."

Aragorn's mouth tightened into a thin line. Again, he felt his body tense under the question, guilt manifesting in sweating palms and the bilious taste in his throat. But he tried to ignore this, urging their collective steps forward to the camp. The action was a distraction to his quaking limbs, and while he was focused there, his mind was finding a route that he might use to deflect the accusation. A moment later he gave back a sharp reply.

"I did not wander far, and the same might be said for you. Doubtful do I find it that you woke any in our party before you sought _me_out. And like you, I only came a short way before finding our elf. Such a meager search did not warrant waking others, do you not think?"

Boromir was silenced as this statement obviously rang true. Aragorn smiled inwardly knowing he had struck victory by realizing the make of this man. He and Boromir bore many of the same traits. But he also knew these words came from the darker side of him and he wished he might find a way to give them better sound.

It was then that Legolas spoke. The elf's eyes did not seek them out in his answer, and he only looked directly ahead, but sullenly he said, "I may not be right, but I can yet hear your words. You need not speak as if I were a cur to be talked over."

The challenge in those words frightened Aragorn for he worried that they might be a clue that there was more the elf might say. But before he could counter them with controlling words of his own, Boromir asked the question Aragorn most dreaded. "Do you remember any of what might have happened to you, Legolas?"

Phrased like this, Aragorn feared the answer that might come. He felt a crushing panic fight to surface. The question was direct and could not be routed. The deception was about to be discovered, and he would be unveiled as the monster he truly was. He felt as if he was in a pit and the clouds had covered him over. He had to flee! He had to get away! He was being buried! There was no way out!

The elf's head bowed, and he seemed to grow even heavier in their shared embrace while they continued to walk. His brow appeared to crush into a pained expression, yet he kept his part in their pace. After a moment like this, Legolas' head slowly came up, and again, he did not look to either of them. "I remember . . . " he began, and then he stopped.

Aragorn's heart nearly halted its beating. He felt a great urgency to flee then, like a startled beast. He wanted to hide before he was sought out and hunted.

_Dear Valar, how might I redeem myself from this?_

But then Legolas continued. His voice was much clearer then, as if he had recovered from the listless hold of the drug. "I remember only going to the stream to clean my tunic. And then nothing else." He stood taller now, but he shivered, as if the words chilled him.

The tremble caught Boromir's notice. Legolas did not wear his cape. "Ah, your cloak, Legolas! We left it behind. Your tunic as well," Boromir commented, and they all halted as if they were collectively trying to decide how to retrieve the missing items. They were at the perimeter of the camp then, with the rest of the Fellowship sleeping soundly before them.

Aragorn took the opportunity. It was his moment of escape. Divesting himself of his own cape, he wrapped it around the elf, as if that might remedy the chill. Legolas was standing on his own, and they were nearly done with their walk, Aragorn did not feel it was that great a load for Boromir alone to help the elf the rest of the way. "I will get Legolas' garments," he announced, but he did not escape quite so easily.

Legolas fixed his gaze upon the man then. It was the first time since their encounter that the elf had really done so, and his eyes were searching. That penetrating quality returned to them just as the effects of the drug seemed to be wearing off and Aragorn felt caught. A strange sort of sadness lay behind them, and weakly did it seem the elf looked into him. But his words said more than that querulous look. "I had a dream, Aragorn. . . . "

It was more a question than a statement, and it seemed that the elf might then speak of his "dream". The idea terrified Aragorn. He was not prepared yet for this. Skilled though he might have appeared to be at this deception, Aragorn was truly inadequate at lies, and the better part of him now wished to escape. He did not think he had it within him to refrain from an outburst of lament or guilt should the elf speak on their shared incident. There was danger in staying in the company of his friend, and he knew he needed to be gone before the monster again came forward and spilled the truth.

He backed away, hands up as if to deflect the words. "I will see to your garments now," he said, and then he was striding quickly, his eyes never turning back as he tried to flee his crime.

But flight could never really be his. A minute later he found himself in the place of his criminal act. The sun shone brightly on the hillock, and though the color of the winter landscape was cool, it was still merry, as if denying anything of ill worth could have occurred on a day such as this. To Aragorn, though, it was but an appearance, the cold of winter unable to be disguised by the folly of the sun. He looked upon the scene, and to him it seemed a disheveled and skewed place of torment. Sullied.

There on the ground lay the cloak, crushed and rumpled, free of blood or bodily stain, but indicative of the wretched act that had been perpetrated upon it nonetheless. Tears suddenly filled his eyes, and infinite regrets filled his chest. He longed to sob out his apologies, a scream of anguish building from within him. But he dared not speak, knowing Boromir had heard him before, and he had no excuse to call out now. He pressed his contrition into his core, knowing he would never be able to release it outwardly. At the same time, he wiped his tears away. It was done. He could not remedy his crime here.

With a jerk, he flicked the cape up and out, shaking the wrinkles and creases free with the one quick motion. Gone was the evidence, and Aragorn consciously noted it with envy for the ease of that motion. How he wished he truly could erase the reality of what had occurred with a simple wave. He yearned to shake his troubles away on the wind.

The fact was that there would be repercussions for his actions. He was sure of it. He just did not know yet what course they might take.

_If I took what is rightfully mine, I could save him. There need be no consequences._

"No," Aragorn growled, not even allowing the idea to form into a plan. He recognized the Ring's voice now, and he would not be deceived again.

He turned about and saw the balled up tunic heaped on the ground next to the stream. It had been stepped upon and lay as a sodden lump on the red earth. Aragorn lifted it with fumbling hands, holding it up to the light that he might see the intricacies of the fabric. The elf had succeeded in removing the bloodstain, but by dropping the wet cloth in the dirt, the tunic had been soiled anew. It was no longer clean but now scarred by an injury of a different form. Somehow the evidence left seemed the crueler. Looking at the cloth, the wound appeared centered over the chest. The color was just as rich and deep as had been the blood; but it was also larger, more massively swelling. It covered the body of the garment. Aragorn looked at it for a moment, feeling the gruesome weight of the wound he had inflicted, and try as he might, he could not discern what might be done to heal this ill.

Laying the cape carefully aside, Aragorn took the lighter garment and dipped it again into the stream. Scrubbing the elven cloth against itself, he worked to free the mud from the fabric. Stubbornly, the red hue persisted, fading dramatically as he burnished and distressed the cloth. But it did not fade completely. Like a shadow, it could not be removed.

Tears stung his eyes again and he realized the reminder of his actions would continue despite his efforts to wash them away. Again he felt as if he should run, but pride and recognition of a greater good kept him where he was. It would be painful, but he had to see it through. He would not fall to his weakness again. And with that acceptance came a certain understanding. The stain could not be removed. It could not be removed, but it could be hidden. Contained as an underlayer, it would not be seen. Relegated to a world of dreams, the mark of his actions would not be openly visible either. At least that is where he hoped it might remain.

**TBC**   
  
  
_A/N:_THANK YOU to all the reviewers! This was a really rough week, but your wonderful reviews and critiques brightened it considerably. It spurred me on, and gave me the impetus to complete this chapter despite my foul mood. Yes, the chapter was already written, but I often do re-writes in the week before publishing, and this chapter was ripped apart by my darker side in the interim period. Your reviews helped me to put the pieces back in place. Thank you also to my betas, Lamiel and Elf Lady for their comments on the text _before_ the evil, put-upon, dark-minded Ithilien shredded it. It still _somewhat_resembles what you saw, doesn't it? ::Ithilien ducks her head knowing Kalima the Copy Editor is going to find dozens of mistakes in this chapter as a result of letting it going unbetaed.:: **Reviewer Responses**   
_Jamie_- Thank you. That was just the kind of thing I needed to hear this week. I enjoy a psychological drama when I can get my hands on a good angsty one. Big battles and actions need not drive a plot._Jenolas - _Oh, I know what you mean by RL getting in the way. I'm three chapters behind on The Great Escape and am feeling terrible that I haven't had a chance to review it of late. I wrote this whole story as one big long tale, so it doesn't surprise me that you think Chapters 4 and 5 work well together. For ease of publication though, I chose to divvy it up into chapters. Thanks for your review!_Bookworm 303 - _I don't send out emails, but I try to update regularly on a weekly schedule. Fridays. Think Fridays. I also SSP at Royal Mirkwood Home, the Yahoo group, but that is the only real place I announce my fics. You, of course, are welcome to join ::grin::. Email me and I'll send you the URL. Thank you for your review and your compliments. You made me smile._Angharad -_And that is exactly enough said to juice me on. Thank you for your review and your continued support._Erin Lasgalen_- Oh my! You are so very, very right on all counts! Very insightful! And thank you for taking the time to write a second review. You made me feel great. To keep this in canon -- which was one of my chief goals in this story -- I knew I needed to explore what happened when an elf was defiled. How does one battle the ultimate heartbreak? I hope I keep that in character too._Linaeve - Galenas_and _galenolas_are very close in name, but very different in nature. (I forgot that galenas was pipeweed!) I give a little more insight on this drug in the next chapter. It has an interesting past, and a name in Quenya that says much for its true nature. Thank you for your review. You brightened my day._Pheraearwen _- My only regret is that I couldn't tell what was going on in Legolas' head when all this was happening. There is stuff happening there, but hopefully by the story's end it will be clear there is more happening than just the games going on in Aragorn's mind. Thank you for reviewing!_Ja _- Thank you! Hopefully by now, you can see what the Ring is trying to do. It's trying to give Aragorn a reason to take it. It knows that power is not a motivation for the man, so why not reach for something else Aragorn may want. But don't forget, it is doing the same thing to other members of the Fellowship too._Elithraniel _- Thank you so much. I always liked that phrase, but I have to admit that I laugh whenever I hear it. I always want to say in answer, "No, Gimli rocks!"_Reader's Digest_- Cool name! And thank you so much! I'm incredibly flattered, and glad that I caught your attention enough to follow through. For a new reader, you have good insight on the characters. That's a great starting place for storytelling. For more good reads, check out my Favorites Lists shown on my author page. It is sometimes very difficult to find good stories on the front page, and I usually just go through the network to find what other people consider the best._Ice Angel 7 - _It's a little tedious to do, but I think people enjoy seeing the author's reply. I consider it a way to give something back. Thank you for your compliments. I tried very hard to keep Aragorn's change to the bad an understandable move. I wanted people to believe it and realize there wasn't much chance he could have resisted it. That's not always easy, and no doubt someone skimming along would say he was indeed OOC-ish. But so far, the reviews are good._Ldyharp -_I know exactly what you mean. I hate the repetition of slash story plots. Believe it or not, this story was originally going to be a simple little PWP. Only the concept kept building and building, and I kept self-critiquing and critiquing, telling myself if I was going to do a real story that contained slash moments, it had to be according to the tenets Tolkien established. This is the result. I hope it doesn't disappoint. Thank you for your compliments and review._Templa Otema_- Gosh! Wow! What a review! Thank you! I'm afraid I don't know what to say after all of that except that I tried. I think I've thought through every inch of this story, and I'm glad to see it's paying off. The dreams tie together, of course, and there is yet more to come, but the tragedy is also marvelously complex, and I suppose I am mimicking the plot devices of the classics in that sense. There are no straight lines in this story, and truthfully, I don't care for stories that follow an even path._Hope _- You really blew me away, you know. Thank you SO MUCH! It seems you and I shop for fics the same way. I really wish there were more great ones out there, but I will tell you that when I find them, I share them. Look on my Author page for my Faves, and then follow their Faves, and so on. It's sort of a back page network of Author Recommendations. What I said to Ldyharp above applies to you too. The idea started simple, but grew to something bigger. But really what I need to say is thank you for the thorough analysis. I'm delighted that you 'get it' and I feel like I'm speaking to more than just a few now when I see how much is being read into this. Not to make it sound like my ego is overinflated, but I really did put in an effort toward all of these points, and it moves me to know it was not wasted energy. Gosh, thank you! Thank you thank you thank you! Talk about smiling . . . ::huge grin::_Music2084 -_I can't please everyone, I guess, but thank you for your compliment of The Hunting Trip. Yes, to many people's disappointment, this story is exclusively from Aragorn's perspective, but I had hoped that by focusing his attention on Legolas, it might make it appealing to all the Legolas fans out there. Guess not, but that's okay. Thanks for reviewing anyway, and I hope you will like the next story._Theresa Green -_ First, congratulations to you on all your Mithril nominations! They are well-deserved. Second, thank you so much for your review. I had a few other reviewers comment on background music for this story. There were lots of minor chords being noted. The music from Jaws might be rather fitting, I suppose. Da-dum. Da-dum._Nightwing -_Oh! FF is rather cruel at times. My FF bot wasn't going off, so there was a day or two when I was really disappointed I wasn't getting any reviews. Imagine my surprise when I logged into the site. The dream . . . it's funny because I almost wasn't going to have the dream sequence in Chapter 3. Now looking back, I think "How could I not?" You know how I like parallels, so I really enjoyed drawing the comparisons between the two events. Actually, there is sort of, kind of, another parallel coming in Chapter 8. All the ends get tied up there. Thank you for wonderful support, and your friendship!_Ithilcalen -_Oh no! My first dead reviewer! I've given people whiplash before, driven a few to tears, made some fall off their chair, made one have to take a walk around the block, but I don't think I ever actually killed someone. I hope your family will forgive me. Thanks for reviewing before you met your early demise._Elsbeth_- I had hoped it was original. To be honest, I wasn't sure if this was just old hat. Yes, the repercussions will be great, but hopefully after this chapter, Aragorn will have covered enough of his trail that he can pretend all is fixable. It's just his conscience he has to deal with. Oh, and the humiliation Legolas now feels. Fixable? Yeah, sure. Thank you for reviewing!_Rabbit of Iron -_Oh, thank you! The drug is sort of a M-E version of the Date Rape pill. I love your name, btw. And thanks for the extra hug. I really needed it this week._Laebeth_- Thank you for your review. Here's the next update, spurred on by your kind words._Empath89_- And thank you! You have no idea how reviews like this really brightened my week._Lisette -_Well, you survived the really bad stuff, and I'm proud of you for sticking it out. Warm and fuzzy? Well, does it help if I tell you in the end everything veers back on the path Tolkien wrote. Probably not because (no spoilers here) Boromir dies and Frodo and Sam go off on their own. Those weren't happy moments. But I _can_ tell you Aragorn and Legolas do fix this problem. Is that warm and fuzzy enough?_Irena -_Oh stop crying! You know you loved it! ::grin:: Thanks for the reviews._Lamiel _- You've been predicting the response and you were so right. Thank you for everything you did to make this story come to life. Yes, I am proud, but I truly could not have done this without you. You deserve as much credit for this as me. As for that part where Legolas is rubbing his cheek into the cloak, I did it for you. I thought it might be just the thing to turn your knees to jelly (turns mine as well). I hope RL settles down for you. It's about to get calmer for me, so I can at last read your latest too._(no name) -_Thank you for your review, whoever you are. (I feel like I was just visited by a ghost.) Pop in any time._Kel -_That's funny. I never really thought of myself as a slash writer, more as a writer using slash. But hey, the review was so nice, I'll not split hairs. I couldn't agree more about Legolas acting the girl in many slash fics. Put him in a dress and he could take over as wife. I hate that. Good slash, to me, accounts for the erotic qualities of a man. I try to imagine what I find appealing and draw on that. Thank you for your wonderful review!_Mer -_Oh, yes, I know you from "The Hunting Trip". Thanks for joining me here too. The 'after time' is upon Aragorn, and you can see what he did with it. I'm not sure if I like him very much right now, but I understand why he did what he did. The next chapter will show how he redeems himself. Thank you for reviewing._BButtercup _- Oh, but I do hope you will forgive him. He is going to work very hard to fix this, and (hopefully) we will come to see, the Ring is not just playing with him. The sin is not exactly a one-sided thing. There are many dimensions to the hazard the Ring has created._IMTrinity _- ::grin:: Thank you! I had been holding onto Chapter 5 for quite some time and I was hoping everyone would like it as much as me. It was my favorite, though Chapter 3 and Chapter 8 are also close. Thanks for reviewing._Joannie -_Thank you for coming out of hiding. I really am inspired by your praise, and I am definitely pleased this story is reaching you. You like all the things I do, so it should probably be no surprise. I wish there were more stories that had angst and darkness and h/c. Sadly, there are not that many good ones. But I'll keep trying to bring them._Leralonde -_LOL! "Couldn't Aragorn have lasted longer than that?" Nope. He's a mortal. No staying power there. I'm sure Legolas thought it lasted long enough. Thank you for your review and for brightening my day._Mercredi -_Dreamlike, eh? Yep, dreams are very much at the center of this story ::looks again at the title and sees a connection::. So what do you think of Aragorn's cover up plan? Myself . . . I'm not really liking it, or him, very much at the moment, but I swear he will redeem himself. Lies cannot stay lies, or else, in my mind, he would be OOCish. Let's see what happens to make him come forward with the truth. The ending may surprise a few people. 


	7. At the Heart of the Dream

**Heart of the Dream**   
_by Ithilien_ _Chapter Seven: At the Heart of the Dream_   
  


Legolas slept with his eyes open. Aragorn could have taken that in itself as an assuring thing, but he did not. Legolas' pupils were exposed through the mere slits of his lids. That those lids were open at all Aragorn found as an indicator that Legolas' condition was returning to something of normal. Yet this drowse was not of normal reverie. Heavy sleep the elf did take; a healing sleep the Ranger knew it to be, and he hoped by the time all the Fellowship must wake that day, Legolas might be restored to something nearing full health. It was a trait of the Firstborn. They could heal with remarkable speed. It was not so much an unfathomable thing to hope that his friend might be well, especially since Aragorn had concluded that much of the lingering malaise he had seen in Legolas was only an aftereffect of the drug.

Still, despite the good turn in tide, Aragorn had spent the remainder of that day's watch wracked in guilt and unable to find rest. Instead he had whiled away the time at his friend's side. Boromir's watch concluded, and Sam was sleepily roused for his own. Still Aragorn remained. He nervously plucked away at the dirt, absently acting on the repressed fears of what he had committed. He stayed at the elf's side, watching over his resting companion, deriding himself all the while for what he had inflicted. He felt hopeless to find any real solution to redeem himself, and he knew that to approach the truth would only make the situation worse.

His was an evil fate, and it was clearly the Ring's doing. He berated himself for falling blind to the allure. It had tricked him, disguising itself in a subdued luster. He should have known that if pure want could not persuade him, the Ring would find another way to work Its way to him. Bribery, deception, corruption. None of these were above the Ring's menace.

Legolas stirred, his body shifting slightly as he roused to wakefulness. Sky blue eyes began to blink but appeared to find difficulty in focusing. It took a few moments more before the elf seemed to notice his surroundings.

"Legolas?" Aragorn prompted.

The elf's brow creased, and his eyes darkened. "Aragorn," he softly responded.

It was a start. The man smiled. "Yes, I am here. Can you look at me?"

The elf did. But there was something missing in his gaze. It felt . . . .hollow. The man's throat tightened with that lost look, and then Legolas asked with unfocused eyes, "What is this place?"

The man's heart skipped a beat. It was not a good sign that Legolas could not remember where he was. But then the light within Legolas seemed to brighten, and the elf's appearance sharpened as that hollow place seemed to fill. "I remember now," he stated, and his hand came up and touched the back of his head then, testing the area of his wound.

But the pleasure in finding the elf fell away as the elf repeated, "Yes, I remember now." The words made the tightening in Aragorn's throat even greater for he sensed danger behind them. Legolas grew quiet in contemplation. Nothing more was said for many minutes, and Legolas lay still. Aragorn could see the archer piecing the memories together as his eyes darted back and forth over the sky. The man's heart beat loudly in his chest as he awaited the outcome of the elf's thoughts. The quiet was unbearable, and Aragorn found he could not stay his tongue in his desire to fill the space with something. "Can you rise, Legolas? Do you thirst?" he finally said. He put out a hand to the elf as if to aid him in a comradely move. However, Legolas reflexively jerked away from the touch, sitting upright abruptly. His eyes went wide as he started, and his movement was like the skittish jolt of a wary animal.

"Legolas . . ." Aragorn softly uttered.

But then he opted not to say more. Prudence told him that Legolas should be the one to tell his mind.

In the background, the camp was coming to life. He could hear the slow rousing where Sam had built a small fire in the dimming light. The others were slowly gathering about it, taking their breakfast-dinner in small stages as their weary eyes came to focus. But from where he sat, Aragorn's eyes did not leave the elf. It suddenly occurred to the man that the Ring was conspicuously absent from his mind, and he wondered now if it were playing in the depths of Legolas' thoughts.

"My friend," he said, reaching out with a gentle hand laid open, as if to show he was unarmed. Legolas' eyes were saucer-round, but he slowly seemed to calm after another few breaths.

It did no good that Aragorn felt his own chest tightening in fear or that his limbs felt weak with his helpless worry. This moment was not about him. Still, his warring soul wished that Legolas would still; that he would fail to recall anything; that the elf would just forget what had happened and that they might move on. Blithely, easily, all could be as it had been. The entire incident could be masked if only the elf would not question it. But Aragorn understood that was not the way of elves. Just watching, he could see his friend struggling to resolve the missing parts in his mind, and even for the wariness felt by the Ranger's touch.

Aragorn expected he might hear the Ring calling to him then, reminding him that It was there just on the edge of his grasp, and all he need do was take It to make this horror go away. But he was prepared for that fight, and that voice never came.

Bits of conversation and laughter could be heard from the other side of the camp though a few in the party were still sleeping. The lazy awakening of the group seemed the right opportunity for the man and elf to speak. But Aragorn knew that would not last. Soon one of the others -- Gandalf most likely -- would seek them out to find out why they set themselves apart. Aragorn could not bare the thought of conversing with any other. The frivolity and lighter mood contrasted sharply with Legolas' darkening expression, and for the moment he only wanted to allay that. And then, as if perceiving the need to keep their voices dim, the elf could be heard in a whisper. The melodious quality was gone from his voice however. It seemed interwoven with shame instead.

"I fell."

Aragorn waited a long moment before answering, wondering what might come of this comment. "Yes," he confirmed.

"And then later, when I was on watch, you found me . . . unconscious," Legolas said, a deep furrow cutting across his brow.

Aragorn dipped his head, anxious for what might follow this recollection. His hands were shaking though the Ring's voice was still absent in his ears. "Yes," he hesitantly answered.

"I failed in my duty," Legolas continued, his words sounding stung.

"No, do not think that. You failed no one. You were not at fault," Aragorn replied, pleased to find no questions over the more dire event that had transpired.

Legolas' head shot up. "You were the one who told me I had been sleeping."

Aragorn felt his face flush under the accusation."I should not have said it in the way I did. I am sorry," he said, his chest constricting horribly with the regret he felt for Legolas' shame.

Legolas' mouth turned down into a deeper frown, and he turned his eyes away. Many minutes passed again and he said nothing. Aragorn felt certain his friend could see through his falsity, but at last Legolas said, "You spoke only the truth to me, Aragorn. I should have listened to you. I should have taken my rest as you offered it."

"No," the man countered, shaking his head, "your judgment was sound. There was no reason I should have doubted you."

"I failed in my responsibility, Aragorn. I let down the Fellowship."

Aragorn paused. A part of him had been prepared for the harsh encounter of accusation. He had half-expected the elf to discern what had really occurred, but what he had not expected was to encounter Legolas' guilt so deeply etched in the smaller comment. Putting all to blame on a dream seemed to have worked, only too well. The knowledge that Aragorn was not to be blamed for the greater crime gave him little relief, for he hated that Legolas should suffer guilt through the smaller words and incident. Yet he knew that revealing the truth would be far worse. All he could do was gaze on with compassion and try to ease Legolas' conscience.

"No one knows of the lapse, Legolas," Aragorn said as an encouragement and this was true. Boromir was the only one who had seen a part of it, and Aragorn knew the man of Gondor would keep it to himself. Already he had shown his faithfulness. In the hours since passing, only concerned glances had been exchanged between the Steward's son and the Ranger. Aragorn knew a sort of silent pact had been made, despite the man's earlier disdain for Aragorn's poor behavior. And though at waking Sam had looked with concern at Aragorn huddling over the elf, Boromir had muttered a few words to the Hobbit with some laughter, as if mocking the brooding mother hen Aragorn was taken to be. Aragorn was grateful for this. Boromir seemed to understand the need to conceal Legolas' momentary weakness, for he knew revealing illness (real or perceived) would serve none of them to the good at this point in the journey. Not even Gandalf would be told as far as Aragorn was concerned. He looked over to where the wizard was sitting. The maia's back was to them, and he seemed preoccupied in a conversation of his own with Frodo.

But the assurance was not enough to appease the elf. "_You_ know of my lapse. _You_ saw me at my worst. You were first witness to when I fled the pit after the fall."

"Your reaction was understandable."

In a tight whisper, Legolas said, "It was not! I was -- I was -- my fear overwhelmed me then, and the freight was beyond my control! It was as if thoughts were in my head then that I could not fend off!"

Aragorn shook his head slowly, as if to chase away a bad dream. Why was Legolas taking this so badly? "The space was tight. The air was difficult to breathe. You acted as anyone might."

"I was afraid of _you_ and I was afraid of _that place_. I felt as if I were being forced into a hold, and if I did not leave then, I would be made into something for which I could not be freed."

"Legolas--"

"And then I acted the fool when I ignored your advice!"

"Legolas, listen to me--" Aragorn interrupted putting out a hand. He could not let this go on. He must somehow explain the truth to his friend.

"I will not release myself of this guilt, Aragorn!" Legolas said speaking louder as he again pulled away. "All I can think is the most wretched of thoughts: What if danger had come upon us while I had been unaware? My arrogance could have destroyed us all!"

Aragorn shook his head to negate what he saw. He felt then as if he could see the words as stabbing barbs, each one creating a wound that the elf drove into himself. They only served to solidify Aragorn's disgust for his own actions. None of this had been Legolas' doing. It was a cruel twist that Aragorn's wish for the incident to be relegated out of mind had come to pass, but there was no comfort in it.

He knew he must say something. The elf appeared on the verge of despair, and Aragorn would quell that if he could. But he would do it carefully. "I was on your watch, if you will recall. There was no danger to any but you. My fears were for you alone."

The elf glared malice. "I remember some of what happened, Aragorn! And what I recall was indeed a dangerous thing!"

The man sucked on his breath, afraid to move for fear of what might next be said. He stammered, "Wh-what do you--?"

Legolas' eyes were like daggers. "Much has been revealed to me. Do not think little on what transpired, for I know the greater part of it!" And then Legolas was gone. He darted from his place and into the brush, disappearing from all eyes in mere seconds.

Aragorn stood and tried to find his breath. He felt his chest had constricted so tightly that he could not breathe. He turned back to the others finding all eyes now upon him.

Gandalf was looking at him, and he found himself in a moment of truth. The wizard would either approach now and question, or . . . Warily he nodded, then he gave a motion with his hand and a twist of his head in a gesture that Gandalf could see to mean he was off to scout. And then he turned on his heel and followed the same path Legolas had taken. So fast was this flight and he hoped it would not be questioned. There was always danger in the wilds, and such cautious actions were often warranted. Thus he visualized how all might have looked from other eyes. From outward appearances, he imagined it to seem he and Legolas had been conferring when some warning came to the keen senses of the elf, and then the two had gone to explore. His ears listened sharply for Gandalf to call him back, but no such thing happened and he felt as if he had escaped what could have been a difficult encounter. He did not know if he had it within him to lie anymore.

His eyes then tried to find traces of Legolas' steps. He found clues right away and discerned the elf was not really fleeing him. If Legolas had wished to be hidden, he would have been. On the next rise he found the elf. His silhouette stood in stark contrast to the setting sun. The valley that had once been Hollin basked in the waning glow of light.

"I would rather not speak of this, Aragorn," Legolas began.

"You allowed me to find you. I take that to mean you wish to speak," Aragorn countered.

"I would rather forget it," the elf answered. Aragorn could hear the hint of a quaver in Legolas' voice.

The words were what he had longed to hear. Legolas would rather forget. But he knew their situation could not so easily be left. Although the imminent danger was past, Legolas still might fade. And what of their friendship? Was it too much to hope it could be repaired?

He could not let it go. The truth would need to be revealed.

Aragorn's nostrils flared in taut fear, and he could feel the corners of his mouth flicker into a wavering frown. The man's guilt had a tight fist wrapped around his heart. His voice was taut but kept low. "Tell me what you remember, Legolas." He could feel the cold sweat rising on his brow.

The elf turned his head aside but replied with words sliding as a whisper between lips that barely moved, "It is unbecoming."

The man felt chilled, but he knew he must reason more from the elf. Nothing solid had yet been said. There had been no accusations. Slyly he proceeded, as if to return to the previous ruse. "It was a bad blow you took. You fell unconscious. You could not control what came," Aragorn said, not fully wanting his sin revealed then and willing to use Legolas' injury to excuse what might come.

"And that is just it!" the elf exclaimed. Aragorn recoiled in his own surprise at how abruptly the elf's rage came. "It was like the feelings I experienced in that pit. I could not control myself. My emotions were beyond me. I remember so much." Then he turned away, as if looking upon the man were too painful to bear. "It comes to me as in dreams! It should not be like that . . . not in _dreams_."

Aragorn's mind struggled madly to understand. Whereas before he felt sure he was about to be revealed as a rapist, now incredibly, he was being confided to as a friend. _Is he telling me about his dreams?_ "What do you mean?" he asked.

"I remember _wanting _. . . wanting in ways I should not feel! And all when I should have been taking watch. I remember wanting . . ." His voice trailed off there, and his brow furrowed in despair. Aragorn thought then that the elf might have cried for the thoughts he did not speak.

"Wanting what?" Aragorn whispered, trying to sound innocent in voicing the question, and feeling shame for daring ask it. He realized he was showing himself well as the compassionate confessor, though truthfully, he could not discern all the elf was attempting to tell him.

Legolas' eyes stabbed him, the gaze harsh. Nostrils flared and emotions tore at the elf prince's features. Again Aragorn cringed, for Legolas appeared to struggle against his self-incrimination. The Ranger felt he might find himself under attack if he gave any inclination beyond compassion and so he schooled his outward-showing fears. His expression must have held, for at last Legolas spoke. Aragorn could feel the shame in his words. "You do not understand!" the elf said, his voice a quaking whisper. "It was a _dream_."

Now he truly was perplexed. "So you have said, Legolas, but that does not explain why you find such a thing so abhorrent," Aragorn said softly, his voice a soothing counter to the elf's agitation, and for the first time, he truly felt the role of healer in this.

Legolas' eyes shied away, and it seemed he could no longer look at the man. At last he said, "My dreams are not as yours, Aragorn. You can say you dream, and that is enough to cast aside any odd notions that may course through your head. You do not control what occurs, it just happens. But that is not the way of an elf. Under normal circumstances, my dreams are of _my_ make and control. I may fly on the back of an eagle, or swim the deepest seas and it will be of _my_ choosing. I may run through fields fresh in clover, smelling them, feeling them, and it would be as if I lived it, and again of _my_ choosing. I will feel it and be there by my _own _ will. Mortal dreams are so limited in comparison to that of an elf's, and I take delight in dreams when I may. But in this _dream,_ I had no control. I could see. I could feel. But I could not sway the reverie, Aragorn. The dream was not one I would choose. _Never _would I have chosen that!"

Aragorn was stunned, uncertain what he might say in answer, for it had never occurred to him Legolas might question the dream he had planted in this way. He had thought it enough to allocate all to simple reverie, but to find that answer more complicated made him feel just as confused as Legolas. At last he stammered out the first inane thought that came to his brain. "You said it -- it was a . . . a wanting."

"A wanting that was _wrong_! Please do not question me more, for I truly cannot speak on it, Aragorn. It is too personal. I will only say I should not have felt . . . _that_. It is not right for an elf to feel such . . . !"

Aragorn nodded as if understanding, but truly, he did not. Legolas was speaking in circles again, and he could not discern meaning behind his words unless he should ask more questions. But he did not want to ask more questions. He wanted to be done with this so that both he and Legolas might move on and put this behind them and forgive themselves of their transgressions, real and perceived. But the only thing he could think to say he knew would both calm and frighten the elf. Yet it was the only excuse he could think of that might quell a piece of this riddling guilt. And so he said it.

"It was the Ring's doing, Legolas. That is the only explanation I can find. The Ring was trying to bend you for a greater purpose." And as he spoke it, he knew it to be true in a way, for the fault _did_ belong to the Ring, though who the instigator might have been he felt it better not to say. Still, it felt a relief somehow to put this burden elsewhere and in such a way that the elf might free himself from some of this blame. The deception remained, but it gave Legolas a chance to banish it as reason for his own guilt. And then as if to encourage the elf more, he said, "You can be grateful you did not give in to It."

Immediately he wished he could recant that last utterance, for he realized with the paling of the elf's face that such had not happened. Indeed the battle had been lost as Aragorn could recall. For although during the course of the rape the elf had fought him and cried out for a halt, his body had responded in pleasure nonetheless. Ultimately it had betrayed his outward protests. There had been fulfillment on a physical level. Bodily, Legolas had achieved completion to their act. Aragorn remembered his discovery of the evidence of Legolas' culminating pleasure and the scorning glee his demon-self had felt in that. _As if that justified what I had done!_

And he knew from Legolas' mortified expression then that the elf recalled that detail as well.

For Legolas, it was a horrible defeat. Yet Aragorn could not withdraw his words, for he knew, if all was just dream as he had convinced the elf it had been, he was not supposed to even be there. He could only pretend for the moment that he had not seen the elf's face crumble in despair.

Legolas did not look up, bowing his head as if to agree, and Aragorn knew he must give the elf time to recuperate this blow. Aragorn felt sickened for it.

In one swift motion he had delivered sound reasoning to give his friend a way to forgive himself for his shame. And then in the next breath he had exposed a worse failure. And again, Aragorn knew _none of it need ever have happened_. His heart pounded a mighty thrum in his chest. It was his own weakness that had brought these circumstances about, and his lies seemed to be compounding as the situation settled. Had he realized the Ring's influence from the start . . .

_Banish these thoughts! I cannot go back!_

It was true. He could not go back. He could only go forward.

Without saying anything more, he stood up then. No more would he take of this and no more would he allow the Ring to press upon him. It was absent from him now and it would stay that way. He stepped away from the elf then, feeling those eyes boring into his back but not caring what the elf saw anymore. He marched back to where the Fellowship was camped. He felt determination he could not put into words ride over him, and he felt his chin come up in a prideful look of purpose. He knew he must put his part to an end.

The camp was breaking and all were making haste to leave. Aragorn's guise of wariness had made the group edgy and they did not linger. That was just as well. The man wished to be gone from this place.

He grabbed his satchel as he strode across the camp and he knew not what the others thought then, for he did not bother to turn or look at them or explain. He did not care if he was seen or watched or questioned. He had something more important to do and he would not hide this along with his shame. With reason and conviction, he walked out of the camp and along the path to where Legolas had been found by the stream. None followed and he was again alone. The day's lingering under the sun had lightened the marks where his actions against the elf had been made. Still, to his trained eyes, he clearly saw everything that had happened here. He saw all the signs of an uncivil act. He saw rape.

He turned his back to it and faced the setting sun. It was time to put it away and time to make sure it would not occur again. He reached into his bag, and pulled out the pouch where he had stored the dried leaves of _galenolas_. He spilled the contents free, watching them drift away on the light wind the valley seemed to stir forth. He bid they never be put to use again, and he knew for himself, at least, this would be so. No more would the temptation be there. The petal-light wisps floated through the air and crossed into the sun. They flitted like ash over the red light of the sun's fire, black specs of deceit lost in the waning heat. And when they were gone from his hands, he knew he would no longer be capable of the evil the Ring derived. It was gone.

###  
###  
###  
  


They stood in a garden, the tinkling sound of water splashing into a pool somewhere near. The moonlight cast silver highlights across the leafy surfaces, and Galadriel shone brightly in the light. Her skin was radiant and glowing, and even in the darkness of night, she appeared as vivid and splendid as she did by the full of Anor's grace.

And yet her eyes were dark, looking through him and past him, and he knew his sentence was to be given. She had heard his defense, and he knew there could be no reprieve.

However, she did not hold his gaze as he might have expected. His vision did not become fixed upon her, as if ensorcelled. Instead she released him, her own eyes cast down.

_"And Gandalf did not question you?"_

Aragorn's head hurt and he grew weary of speaking in his mind. His words were said aloud then for the effort to keep all inside was becoming too difficult. "He was concerned, but his concerns were unequally divided. I cannot speak for his mind, but he had confessed the Ring played with his thoughts too. For all I know, It may have been what convinced him to speak on my behalf in giving Legolas the potion. He seemed innocent in advising it, but I thought my actions innocent too, up until a point. I must assume Gandalf was distracted, because he did not question me. I cannot say if he spoke with Legolas. That is not to say he did not worry. I do think he worried, for all of us, but he fretted most for Frodo. And I think he relied upon the stronger folk among us to find remedy on our own where we could. It is already somewhat the nature of a warrior and hunter to keep to himself. I do not think it would have been comfortable for him to approach any of us to find out how we _felt_."

_"You did not go back on your resolve then?"_ she asked.

He sighed. So the queries went on. He longed to be done of it. He wished only to know his end in this. Would it never come? "It became easy, for the temptation was removed," he sighed. "No more of the _galenolas did I see after that day."_

_"It is curious that galenolas would be the instrument of Legolas' seduction for there is a history to this plant. Do you know of it?"_ Galadriel said in his mind, still not looking at him.

"I . . . know nothing of it," he replied, hesitantly, fearfully. He wished now he had pressed for more information from Elrond, and from the men he had known, for had he, he might never have chosen the course he did.

Her eyes slid over him then, something within her giving weight to a restrained furor. Her voice was even when she spoke, for it was aloud, but he detected a minute quaver that told him her outward control was a mask. "It is Morgoth who stole this plant from Yavanna's gardens. He changed its nature as he changes all things good."

"Morgoth?" Aragorn gasped, feeling a growing dread with this revelation. He had used the dark god's instrument in his doings?

"It said that he used this plant when he wooed his elven captives to the dark side."

"How?" the man managed to choke out, truly feeling sickened.

"Do you know the Quenyan name for this plant?"

"I . . . I do not."

"It is called _eglanasolas_."

"Plant of . . . forsaken dreams?"

"Yes. Forsaken dreams. Hopes abandoned."

"You speak in riddles, my Lady."

But she appeared to ignore him, focusing instead on the path her mind roamed. Her face grew terribly dark in the telling, her beauty hidden, as if trapped behind a cloud. "Elves cannot tolerate defilement. There are few who may withstand it should their bodies be taken in something outside of love. Most die." She paused a long moment and then he found himself caught in her gaze. "For others, there is rage."

Aragorn could say nothing, his heart racing as he wondered where Legolas fit into this tale.

"Morgoth fed this potion to the elves. He used it so that they could accept the defilement happening to them and so that they would not die in the act. Many still did, for they could not, even after they had survived the intimate taking, live with what had occurred. He made them lust -- in dreams, it is said -- and thus in doing so, he made them want for the defilement that was put upon them. They were helpless to resist. And when at their waking they remembered that this was _not_ as their hearts chose, they either died of the heartbreak or grew to find rage."

The elf queen turned away, and her eyes took on a distant look. She still stood in darkness. "In Morgoth's dens, those elves who lived ultimately succumbed to their hate. They were twisted in their fury. It was one of the tools Morgoth used when he remade them into _orcs_," she said.

A sob spilled then from Aragorn's throat, the full of his actions slamming into him like the blow of a troll. He had followed Morgoth's path! He had gone into the deepest of pits in his actions. There was nothing lower and he had blindly walked there. Aragorn had known nothing of this! He felt his soul crumbling like a slip of parchment in a fire. His crime had grown a hundredfold times more evil in just this telling.

"Does he fade?" Aragorn asked desperately, whispering, not knowing which of the two outcomes she had laid out to him was the worse.

"You have been in his company these many weeks. What do you think?"

"Please tell me! Too much has happened since the time of my crime. We faced Caradhras, Wargs, the Watcher in the Water, and Moria. We saw Gandalf fall. Legolas has been strong through it all. And yet . . . " Tears were stinging his eyes in his panic. He had to know what he had done. He had to know!

"You and Legolas have barely spoken."

"I have tried!"

"It was a horror that which befell him. I could not blame him should he would wish to deny it or forget it." She appeared so calm in contrast to his flushed terror. "The potion you gave Legolas draws out desires. It heightens the yearning and makes even things unwanted desirous. It also makes what is unattainable come alive in the users mind. It is a powerful potion, difficult to resist. You played with Legolas' hopes."

"I have watched him! I have tried to assure him! If he has come to a point of realizing the truth, will he die in accepting it?" Aragorn asked.

"The thoughts you put in his head --"

"Tell me he will live! Please! Please!" He found himself upon his knees then and he was crying openly as he clapped his hands together. He was begging her.

"You are not concerned with how he might feel for you? Do you not wonder if he would rage against you?"

"If he should hate me, he still might live! Is that not the better thing?" Aragorn asked, and he felt the tears stinging his eyes and washing down his face with this plea.

She spoke again in her outward voice, her expression lofty and imperious. "Even now you cannot predict him."

Desperation made him cry. "Please, Lady! If you know, tell me!" His guilt and fears consumed him the more she went on in this.

"I have queried his mind, if that is what you wish to know."

"Does he fade?!"

A long silence followed, and then came the words, borne on a whisper. "He does not."

Emotional liberation overtook him as Aragorn collapsed into himself. The relief overwhelmed him as a sigh broke free from his chest like a breath of fresh wind. More tears came to his eyes, the break from guilt so fulfilling. His fingers stretched into the grass, finding the cool touch assuring as he listened to his sobs spill free of him, like rain. So happy was he to hear these words.

After many minutes of release, tiredly he sat upright. The weight was gone from him and he felt lightheaded and dumb. Blankly he confessed, "Some days he was well, especially in the presence of the Hobbits."

She stood above him. He could feel her eyes upon him. "He was doing his part to assure their safe passage. Giving them comfort was also a part of his task."

"And at other times he seemed saddened to the very depths of his soul. I sensed his change." He felt her hand on his shoulder then and he looked up at her.

Galadriel gave him something of reprieve in the next breath. _"It took many long years of Morgoth's corruption to taint the elves this way. They would have hated him at first, only slowly learning to hate all the world for the repetition of hurts put upon them in the centuries passing. Elves are much stronger than even you might see. You may find ease in knowing such transformation did not come in a single event_." And for the first time she seemed to smile at him.

She tilted her head as she stepped back from him then. The gesture an invitation for him to again rise and when he did so, she said, "The Ring attempted to bend him."

He could feel his brow come together with confusion in his response. "But I-- I thought It wanted me -- "

"You were not the only target of the Ring with that seduction, Aragorn. Yes, the Ring pursued you. It saw your bearing and knew you were in a place to claim power. But remember too that Legolas is also of noble blood. He could easily lead others into any cause he should choose. The Ring knew that too. The pursuit of power is all that It has desired. Ultimately, It would wish to be on the finger of Its master, but It also knows It is better placed with you or with Legolas than about the neck of a lowly Hobbit. The Ring was testing you both in the actions It put upon you. Where Legolas failed was in seeing through the pettiness of your passing words."

"Do you mean the blame I put upon him for falling into reverie? But that was a trifle in comparison to what truly befell him."

"You have greater power over him than you might know."

"No, you read it all wrong. He is stronger than that. He was upset because of the dream. That is what set him on edge."

"It appears you do not know him then."

"Twice now I have been told that," Aragorn snapped back.

"Then twice now it should be abundantly clear you do not," she crisply replied.

"I told him my words were misplaced. He knew . . ."

"Sometimes it is the smallest crack that will cause the wall to crumble."

"He believed in me . . ." he murmured, defeated. He had trouble understanding Legolas' hurts, or even more, Legolas' strengths. She had said he would survive, and for the moment he knew he must cling to that. "How did he survive what I did to him?"

She moved away from him then, stepping lightly. Her beauty was ethereal and elegant again, and for a moment she seemed almost unreal. But then she spoke and he felt her voice a grounding place for his heart. She faced him from where she stood. "Legolas showed his mettle. He resisted the potion you gave him and found a way to make it that he might survive the defilement put upon him at the same time. That is no small thing. He found a way of his own. But I cannot say what that was. There are some things that even I cannot read if one wishes not to disclose them. Legolas bars his mind to me. He is distressed, that I do know, but he will not share the reasons behind his feelings," Galadriel said.

"Then how do you know he will not fade?" Aragorn asked as he found his legs and drew nearer to her.

She touched his hand, and took it into both of hers. The gesture was assuring to him. "I can see his strength and his stamina. He has been crushed. Like Morgoth's spawn, a part of him has been corrupted. But he fights to remain as he had been. I can say no more than this."

Aragorn paused, trying to read between the words and concluding there was much in what had been left unsaid. "Yet you hinted to me that there was more to his heart than what might be perceived."

"Indeed. This may be what saved him."

Aragorn stood, confusion yet washing over him, and with it subtle anger for the dodging ways her assurances came. "Why can you not just tell me what you know?"

"Because it is not mine to tell, Aragorn, son of Arathorn. Only Legolas can tell you what is in his soul."

"And he will not speak it," Aragorn said quickly, dejectedly, pulling his hand away as he turned.

"He needs to learn to trust again," the elven Queen said, and as he looked back at her, she seemed more the ethereal being then, less physical and more spiritual, if that were possible. She seemed to read the self-loathing he put upon himself as she said, "It is not you he does not trust. It is himself. He does not know if it is within him to believe in his own control or will."

"But he is strong," Aragorn cried.

"He thinks the Ring put desire into him. He does not trust that he can fight It."

"It was the _galenolas_ that did it."

"He does not know that."

"Then I am yet at fault. Should I tell him I did this to him?"

"Nay. It will serve neither of you to go back. Legolas will heal when he learns of the good within him. He will find himself again when he knows he is not so easily bent to the will of others. To do this, I have asked that he seek camaraderie where he may not have looked before." She smiled warmly, but her eyes were sad as she said, "This time is trying for all, and Gandalf's demise weighs heavily upon Legolas. He would turn to you were his heart healed. He needs to re-establish that which was lost. It shall be done. He only needs time. Yet at the same moment he needs a companion for whom he might confer his mourning, one who would not know of the humiliation he suffered."

Aragorn digested that for a moment, adding the sum up, and then saying, "Surely you cannot mean Gimli?"

The elf Queen's laugh was like the sound of bells. "It seems unlikely, yes, but that is what I have encouraged. And he seems to be considering it. I think they would find more in common with each other than they might expect," Galadriel said with a smile.

"And what might Gimli think of this?" Aragorn asked, somewhat amused by the idea.

"Gimli is more willing to be a friend to Legolas than you might think. Already he is charmed by some of Legolas' antics, though he dares not let on such thoughts outwardly. And I think too he senses Legolas' pain. I think Gimli would be willing to be a friend, if Legolas were to approach first."

"I do not see that happening."

"Watch and see."

Aragorn gazed hard at the elf, then found himself startled as he read into what she had said. "By saying thus, does that mean I am given the opportunity to continue? You will not punish me? I shall not be sent away?"

Galadriel stepped away, her hands reaching as she crossed the garden. Her fingers plucked a delicate blossom of nephredil when she had reached the bordering rim. At last she said, "It is not mine to decide what punishment is fitting for you. Perhaps it is that you have already suffered enough. Mayhap you yet need to suffer more. Only you can determine this. But as for the Quest, the path remains open. You have been tested by the Ring, and trying though it was, ultimately, you have passed. It is your resolve that truly matters. And though you may see what has come as a failure, were I to come out as well as you have in my test, I should be pleased," she said enigmatically.

That statement was perplexing. "Lady?" Aragorn asked, not certain what she meant.

Then she looked on him with solemn eyes that said far more of what her make was than anything he had seen in this pretty garden scene. "Think you are the only one tormented by the whispers of the Ring, Ranger? It speaks to me as well," she replied, and a sense of terror rose in his chest at the subtle boom of her words. "The Ring offers much to me, and it is a temptation I know I must resist. Bringing it to this realm was a very dangerous venture. I know not how I might respond."

He noticed then that the nephredil blossom fell from between her fingers. He watched it fully descend to the ground at her feet, and then he spoke words of shock.

"But you . . . you are Galadriel," he said, gasping at the implications of her statement.

"I am Galadriel, and yet I may be a Queen of such power you might never guess it! Think about it, mortal!

Darkness seemed to pass over her like a storm cloud, and he could no longer see her face. Her voice was all he could make of her, and the sound of music was gone from it. "The world of the elves fades. Think of it. How do you think that weighs upon me?

"I abhor that it falls to _you_, son of man! It was ours _first_, and it is not right that we have failed in keeping it! It need not be like that!

"Can you even imagine what it might be for my people to remain here and be given the opportunity to see these lands blossom as they do on the far shores of Eressea? That is what was meant for this world, though it has never fully come. But I could have it that way! I could make it, were It _mine_ . . .

"I scowl at the bitter gift granted us by the Valar. They took away our right to go between these two worlds, when once other choices had been ours! They are cruel in their continued punishment of us, and I would see that changed. Can you even understand this? Can you know what it is to have your heart shorn from your chest by desires called forth in the return to Valinor? Parting is an equally heartbreaking ordeal, and I curse all the Vala for putting the choice upon us. I could change that were It _mine_!

"Think you I do not miss my kindred abroad whom I may not see until I give up on this Middle-earth? I have loves here as well! To live as I do now means accepting these things! But the Ring . . . the Ring . . . It may vanquish those troubles from my mind. It makes promises to me that are hard to ignore."

Aragorn's mouth went dry. Suddenly he felt his own worries quite petty in comparison to the haunting whispers put upon Galadriel. If it had fooled him into considering It, what might It be coaxing in Galadriel's conscious soul. "You know--you know It lies. You know the reality of what It would bring."

"Do I? Be not so fooled by outward appearance. I am not the delicate flower you think me to be."

The way she said this made Aragorn tremble in fear. Not once did she look at him in this bit of exchange, and somehow her hidden face made her seem more the monster. Still, he would speak. "Even the greatest might be smote with one swipe of a blade. You know this." It was a threat.

"I do," she said, bending down to retrieve the dropped blossom before turning her seeking gaze upon him again. The light was back upon her brow. "Do you?" she returned. He could feel her probing his thoughts, and he could see the strength of his soul through her eyes. And then the question came, and she spoke again in his mind.

_"What might you do should I take It as my own?"_

He did not hesitate, his mind immediate in knowing his answer. "_I would fight you to see It destroyed." _And he knew in that instant that he had given the answer she so desired and would have expected of him.

She smiled at him then, her hand held out. The white flower was revealed to him. He took it as offered. "You shall claim what is yours. Hold your head up, Aragorn, for I can see you do know your heart. The Ring holds no power over you. Not truly. And now your job is before you, for not all might pass this test as you have."

He bowed his head, gladdened that he could feel proud. "What would you have me do then?" he asked.

She put a hand to his shoulder. "Protect the Ringbearer from those who might seek It," she said, and then he looked up, and gazed into her eyes, reading to the depths of her soul. The words were unspoken, but he heard them anyway. _"Even should the one seeking It be me."_

  
_TBC_   
  


**Response to Reviewers**

_Leralonde_ - I was really afraid to do a slash fic at first, but the fear is almost gone now. Almost. I do have a thought or two for another slash fic, but not with the pairing you like. I'm still undecided yet as to whether or not I will do it. Thank you for the wonderful compliment. Only seven more days . . .

_Ldyharp _- Thank you. As the story wraps up I keep hoping all those reading will continue to find it 'wonderful' . . . so much pressure. I'm so nervous.

_Kel _ - You came off as very coherent to me. Thank you. In RL, the best I've published is some technical manuals and an intro here and there. I would love to do something real. Reviews rev my muses, so let's see where the ending of this story takes me.

_Elfdancer _- Thank you for recommending this story. I hope others do come and partake. Networking is the best way to find stories, I think, and I'm thrilled you think this one worthy of giving the lead. The confrontation came in this chapter, but I'm afraid it was a bit confusing. At least Galadriel made her part clear (scarily so), and now we also know Legolas will not die. That's a good thing, right?

_Anon_ - Wow! Thanks! I will confess that I labor hard at getting all the thinking right. Most people would throw their hands in the air if they knew how many times I revise and revise. Even I get angry with myself because I'm continually futzing. I'm glad to know it can pay off.

_Mercredi_ - Sometimes flimsy plans can work if we don't touch them. Aragorn is practically holding his breath in this chapter, and he's ready to give it all up should anyone even say a word to contradict him. He's in a tough spot, but he redeems himself in the end, I think. I'm sorry I can't go on the whole journey, but Tolkien wrote this story as an adventure, and the angst only fits in the quieter moments. The Fellowship had a lot of physical stuff to deal with after -- Wargs and Watchers and Balrogs. In some ways, all that external focus was probably good as it kept them from thinking about what was going on internally.

_JastaElf_ - Dessert is coming up, and we're dishing out Truth and Emotional Unveiling. Whatcha say? Got any room left?

_Nightwing_ - I know you wanted a Gandalf confrontation, but the muse said no. Actually, he said a little more than that. You should have seen him, all fury and might. "Do not think to press me into a conversation I choose not to have, foolish Ithilien. You know my involvement would alter the direction of the story, and I think I am the wiser to center myself on Frodo, and not Aragorn and Legolas. Go back to your tome, the one written by the master, and you will see that my focus was on the Hobbit and him alone. The doings of man and elf have little to do with the Quest or the ultimate path of the Ring. That is where my eye is, child." It was hard to argue with that.

_Bookworm, .303_ - You found me! Sorry, I should have mentioned that this story is posted at both fanfiction.net and at adultfanfiction.net. As for getting to Lorien, well, the Fellowship got a bit busy dealing with all the adventure of the journey Tolkien sent them on. They really didn't have time to think much on heartbreak and angst. Lorien is a good place to reflect on their hurts and find healing, I think.

_IMTrinity_ - Well, I gave answers, but I purposely made them hard to understand. Legolas is holding back in telling all, and for good reason. One is that he was just raped, but the other is . . . well, secret. Though really, the clues of what is in Legolas' heart have been there all along, so despite the fact that he speaks in circles, he sort of, kind of, might be making a little sense to some. All will be told in the last chapter, coming next.

_Theresa Green_ - Sometimes I wish I had a Ring to blame when some nastiness comes out of my mouth. The best I can offer is PMS, though my family hardly finds that a good excuse. Though truthfully, on a bad day, the two are not so very different. Boy, did I just put some plot bunny ideas into my head with that little meandering thought. The contrivance of Galadriel to pair up Legolas and Gimli I did with you in mind. Not sure why, but I felt you could appreciate it. Seemed like something they would discuss in one of your stories.

_Lamiel _- Oh good! That's a relief! I'd hate to think I'd ruined it just because I couldn't stop playing with it. Legolas reciting the words . . . there is something very tantalizing in seeing Legolas being coerced to say or do things he might not normally do. At least to me. I find it very stimulating, and although the sexual moment was over, I wasn't quite ready to let go of the controls. You have been wonderful about offering encouragement, and I will take you up on that set of eyes. Eight is on its way to you.

_Reader's Digest_ - You have very profound insight, and I'm looking forward to your reaction as this story comes to an end. It seemed very fitting that Boromir was the one to find them and be the voice of reason in the abstract of Aragorn's strange behavior. I should say that I love parallels, and I see this story as one, really. Though it focuses on the attempts the Ring makes on Aragorn and Legolas, it really is meant to give the reader a chance to see just how hopeless Boromir's struggle was. If the Ring could do this to the two strongest characters in the Fellowship, did anyone else stand a chance? And more so, doesn't Frodo and his resistance to the Ring make him seem even more heroic after reading this tale? I think so.

_Tapetum _- No guilt intended, though I am delighted to know you are here. It's funny because I keep getting reviews from people lauding me as a slash writer, but I don't think of this story as slash. The sex is just a part of it, but not the chief motivation. Except for murder, rape is the worst crime I can think of, and that is what I wanted Aragorn to commit -- the worst crime conceivable, guided, of course, by the Ring. Ooh, do tell me about that scene! I haven't seen the movie, but if the scene is juicy enough, I'll go just for that. Tell me please?

_Lisette _- I'm going to try to use the SuperGlue again. Boy do I feel pressured. But thank you for your faith. This is why I keep tinkering with what Lamiel and ElfLady have already signed off on. I just want it to come out right. I really like this story, and I keep hoping folks will walk away feeling it was worth their time. As for Boromir . . .I don't think I ever considered it could be anyone else. I love parallels, and Boromir is prime to play with in this situation.

_Shonenlyn _- Wow! What a review! Thank you! I was flying high after that one, somewhere around Mars, I think. There are not many slash writers around. Period. Fanfic.net has been successful in chasing them away, and what is left is not always good. I think though, to do this well, it helps to mesh plot along with the slash. I don't really think of this story as slash, but more as a story with slash moments in it. I feel like you do though when I find a good slash fic. I want to shout from the treetops in joy. Thank you for coming out and encouraging me. It means so much and inspires me.

_ElfGirl4 _- That was nicely said. Thank you! It's all the muses' faults. They talk at me all the time about their motivations and tell me exactly what they might say. I'm just a stenographer sometimes. They do all the work. Well, I guess I can take credit for the plot. That was mine. But everything else came from them.

_Templa Otmena_ - Alas, poor Iago, I didn't know him well. I've read Othello, but unfortunately, I can't say I know it like you do. MacBeth. That was my play. What I will say is that I am more than just a little flattered by your praises. Thank you! Those are about the nicest things anyone has ever said to me. As for Shakespeare appreciation, I believe you are so right. He never wrote in a singular direction. He had many twists in the path of his telling, and so many times when I've seen his plays acted I have found myself astounded by the diverging directions he has taken us down. I think the beauty of his work is the incredible weave he created in his character motivations and the subtle twists of his plots. He gave his characters reason and dimension, and, that is hard to do, especially in a play. Thank you for seeing some of that in my story though what I've done hardly compares. Still . . .thank you.

_Jenolas_ - Well, here is your answer, though it is rather unclear as to what the outcome has really become. We are nearing the end though, and I really will try to put the parts back in place before all is complete. At least we know Legolas will live, the galenolas has been tossed aside, and that Aragorn has shown his true mettle in light of what could come of the Ring. What's left? Oh yeah, elf repair. ::pulls up sleeves::

_Peace_ - You'll have to let me know if I succeed at redeeming Aragorn. This chapter was a start. I'll confess that I did not like Aragorn much after the last chapter either, but in this one, he is coming around. I'm not sure about him with Legolas, but I do like that he finally destroyed the key of his temptation. And that he faced Galadriel and showed his true quality . . . Aw, c'mon, you know you're wavering.


	8. The Spurned Demon

**Heart of the Dream**

_by Ithilien_

  
_Chapter Eight: The Spurned Demon_   


He did not recall the dream at first. His thoughts did not light on it as his immediate pre-occupation was with the camp and getting the others ready that they might journey on for another day. He realized though that he felt refreshed and sure. It seemed the heavy sleep of the night before had done him some good.

A gruff voice came, deep, and rumbling, and teasing. It was Gimli, jocular and jabbing, his amusement easy to discern behind his heavy beard. After so long on their travels together, Aragorn had learned the dwarf's habits and knew when his burly companion was having the better side of a jest and he watched as the dwarf followed after Legolas, the remnants of laughter playing on his voice. The elf jibed back lightly, but in truth, he did not appear to be enjoying the banter. A deep crease worked over his brow and he did not reply greatly or elaborate on the dwarf's comment though that had become typical of their way. Still, he smiled an affable response, and Aragorn could see the affection was real, even if it was not overt in the way it was presented this day. It was an oddity all in itself the way the pair had formed a friendship. It certainly was not expected. Yet there they were, exchanging words in the manner of close familiarity.

The two of them were carrying the waterskins back to the camp. So it seemed they had performed the task of replenishing everyone's supply, and they were delivering each flask back to their various owners. They split when they reached the group, and the duty was carried out separately from there.

Aragorn's eye was then drawn away, his concern directed to Frodo, as it had been these many days. The small Hobbit was growing increasingly more agitated as the journey continued, and he had grown sullen and melancholy in the time since leaving Lothlorien. Would that he could, Aragorn would free his small companion of his burden, but he knew what would come should he do so. Despite how tiring the load was becoming for poor Frodo, the Hobbit was by far the one best suited to carry it. As was obvious in the nightmare delivered by these days, little Frodo was so much less susceptible to the torment that bauble was capable of wielding, and for the first time in his life, Aragorn could understand what had caused Isildur's failure. Few men could resist the Ring should It be given to them. For that matter, recalling how he had conversed with Galadriel, few elves could resist either.

His eyes strayed, watching again as Gimli walked among the Hobbits. The dwarf stood a good head above them, and Aragorn smiled as he considered that Gimli must feel tall in their company. He laughed along as Pippin and Merry, for a time too many now to count, switched watersacks, then switched them again and again, uncertain even between them as to whose was whose. And then his eyes sought out Boromir, certain then that the man would be laughing as well, for Aragorn knew that the Steward's son was quite fond of those small beings. However, as he glanced about, he came to see that Boromir was not among them. Wariness prodded him then and he briefly worried for the man's absence. It was not typical for the son of Denethor to wander alone.

But that worry was interrupted. A slender hand reached out to give Aragorn one of the waterskins, and Aragorn naturally put his hands out to retrieve it. His fingers slid over the cool, damp flask, coming into contact with the elf's as the container was passed. Like a flash on the glass of a mirror, Aragorn remembered the last time such a thing had happened. The memory of that chill excitement, the tingle of an unknown, made his heart skip a beat. He gazed up to the elf's face. And that was when he remembered his dream.

It was there, something in the back of his mind, and he could sense it. He had forgotten, and now he recalled.

Foggy bits of memory came to him, the sensation of touch and that smooth elven hand running over his flesh being keenest among them. So very real had it seemed. And yet, he knew it to be a dream also. It was distant and ethereal, so very different from that other nightmare -- the one that had plagued him through much of their journey. This dream was different. It was controlled; it was his. He knew he had brought about its outcome. It did not frighten him.

Vague traces of outlined forms were there, like what one sees when peering through a cloud. As the haze of it began to fade, he started to recall it more clearly, or as clearly one can recall a dream. By that it was slippery, and there were parts that were comprised of nonsense. Still, there were other parts that were vivid and exceptionally real. The memory of the elf's hands running over his skin was one he could remember well.

Strangely though, even as he thought back on it, in the dream he had thought all reality there to be false. It was odd to him now, in recollection, that he had agreed it all was as a dream within the dream. But he had had little choice to that idea, for it was as if a song had been sung into his head telling him exactly that. _Sleep . . . sleep,_ the hypnotic voice had said. _It is all but a dream._

The recollection furthered itself then as he recalled the feelings he had lived. Sluggishly in the dream he realized he had not been able to move. He had been immobile, propped up like a doll, an object to be made into what any other might choose. He recalled he had surrendered himself to the visions put before him.

What he saw in the dream was Legolas. Legolas, beautiful and compassionate. Serene and calm. Soothing and beguiling.

He remembered breathing a sigh of relief then, for somehow he had thought the dream was to be ugly. Immobilized as he was, he could never find it completely intolerable if it were Legolas who was manipulating him. In the time of his shame, Aragorn had had much opportunity to wonder at and learn from his mistake. In the dream, the visage of the elf caressed him, touched him. Legolas smoothed fingers over his flesh, and to the man it was nothing of a nightmare. It was bliss.

And then Aragorn noticed how alive his sense of touch was, as if heightened. His body had tingled, the touch of the other had been exciting and tantalizing. In fact all his facets had seemed improved. He could hear the sound of breath as it hummed, drawn, shaky stirrings into the lithe breast of the elf who had been above him. He could see pinpoints of light flickering in the irises of the deep sky-colored eyes that had gazed upon him. Even scent he could make out; that perfume of pine and lavender that seemed to be the musk of the prince had been clearly wrought by his nose. Vaguely he had thought it strange that he could discern so much, but then again, his thoughts had been hazy, and his focus had drifted in and out. Sleepiness and awareness had warred against each other.

He recalled his eyes had gazed upon that heavenly body. Legolas was ethereal in his dream, skin clear and glowing, golden hair lifting and flowing on a light breeze. A glimmering smile crossed over those exquisite lips as they parted and the elf bent down, warmth meeting warmth, a tongue caressing a tongue. He could taste the sweet nectar of the elf's mouth to his, and he had sighed a shuddering breath, lost in the pleasure of that kiss.

And he had found no shame in that. Even now recalling it, he did not spurn the thought of that passion. It was no longer in him to turn it away. He could see the allure and he had not denied it this time.

In fact, oh that it could go on! Even now, Aragorn felt stirred by the longing his heart had pressed in that exquisite exchange. It was sexual and it was freely given. He knew he had not held back his body then, because it had felt so good. It had seemed so real, an expression of love. And then he recalled that he had drifted off, lost on a pillow of weightless ecstasy, riding over waves of nothingness and enjoying greatly the joys of his body's awakening even as his mind had held no sway. He had been buoyed, feeling nothing but the touch . . . the touch . . . the touch of hands running over his body. . . . Over his mind.

He stared at the elf's hand now, wet from the droplets of cool water. He had the feeling that somehow he had come the full circle to where he had begun. The recollection was alive and he looked back into those eyes.

But here too he remembered the hideous side of it. In the vision there had been a creature -- or no, that had been . . . Legolas. Somehow, Legolas had been transformed, though all else remained the same. All seemed to point to the ethereal realm of sleep as their proof. The fade in and fade out of any semblance of cohesive pattern, and Arwen--yes, Arwen -- she had been there as well. It was only a dream. There was no chance it could be anything else, and as a healer, he decided, it was his conscience attempting to make sense of his actions. He was trying to find reason to put his guilt away.

In the dream he had wished for more of the elf's touches. He had arched his back, his body acting of its own accord, stretching and urging, enjoying the sensations, showing without his mind's prodding the longing that he had felt. He had wanted -- no, had _needed_ -- fulfillment. His body had hungered for it. He mused on that now, knowing only a short time before he had feared his own rape. But the haze of dream blew that fear aside. The touches had plied his desires and he knew he had whimpered with aching need. He had been afire. And he had given over to that.

"What is it that you want?" Legolas' voice had purred, and it had been as music in his ear. "Do you want me, Aragorn?"

Aragorn remembered gazing again upon the beauty before him, and he had gasped then with pleasure, his breath reaping a panted response that he had been unable to contain. That he could be one with Legolas, it was all he desired. No other thought could have come to him. Nothing else but the roaring joy of an affirmative reply could he have imagined.

But he could not say it. He could not, he knew, for deep down, even at the level of a dream, he had known that to say his heart desired their physical union it would have been the means for the Ring to leech into his soul. He read this as another test. The words said aloud would only weaken him. They would divide him. They would force him to make the choice between what was right and what the fabric of a lie could snare.

Even in fantasy, he could not say as much, though he recalled moaning out his woe for he had felt compelled to tell that he did want his body to join with Legolas'.

"You should say it," the elf's voice had taunted him. "Tell me that you want me. To do so will only grant you perfect pleasure."

Such an offer! He could feel his body craving it, the press of their flesh. And yet. . . "I cannot . . . " Aragorn had heard himself say. He remembered being surprised by the sound of his voice. At the same time, in his conscious recollections, he was pleased he had fought off the impulse to speak outright his desire, for he knew he had found it so hard to deny his want. And his body had said something else entirely.

"Tell me that you want me," the elf's voice had lingered in his ear, melting into his thoughts as if it was his own mind that had spoken the words. "Tell me that you want me . . . tell me that you want me . . . tell me . . ."

Lazily he had drifted away then, his hips bucking into the constraining body above his, matching the rhythm of the words. Listlessly he had thought as to why he must speak at all. His body, so far as he was concerned, had told all of what he might want.

But suddenly his seducer had pulled away, a curse of ugliness striking Aragorn like a slap on the face. A guttural voice then said, "You should not defy me, man!" and Aragorn remembered he could no longer make out the shining beauty before him. Instead, as is in nightmares, the other was morphed into a creature of hideous features. Before him was a monster.

It was appalling, for he could not contain the extreme of his senses. Behind the closed eyes of his dream, he could imagine it was Legolas that was caressing him so. But when he had looked upon the visage, a twisted face, dark with resentment and bilious hate had met his gaze. Here the voice was grating and raspy.

"You would choose _her_! You would take her as yours without thinking of how you might wring the heart of your victim!" the creature had snarled.

In the dream, Aragorn had not known how to respond, for his mind had been muddy as he mutely lay before this. His body had been writhing under the ministrations being delivered unto him, hands roaming still over his chest, across his belly, coiling about turgid flesh. He had wanted completion. That was all he had known. He had wanted to be devoured and brought to the brink of his satisfaction by the love in his dream. By his love for Legolas. It would have been as it should have been. But now . . . ?

"Can you not know how you pierce the very soul of another? Can you not see how you defile him with your rejection?" the beast had raged. Gruesome was its countenance, lips drawn back revealing jagged teeth. The eyes were no longer pools of crystal color but rather pits of endless blackness. But they were blind to him. They only looked at him, not through him. They threw cursing daggers upon him, but nothing of the hurt struck true.

"I could take It," the demon had said. "I could take It and I could force you! You would have no choice but to obey me then! I would wear the Ring and I would rule you. I would _rule_!"

Something of these words struck a chord in Aragorn. How much of this was as his own crime had been? Yet here it was presented as chaotic and unreal, the world floating upside-down. His limbs had been lopsided and askew. The creature's face had been both Legolas' and that of something else. And he now thought, _Had this been a test of my will?_ Even then he had seen it. He remembered thinking this, and he had risen to the challenge.

"Arwen . . . " Aragorn had said, the word coasting on the whisper of a breeze.

It had been a call to her, and an explanation to the other as well. He had wished to tell how his love was great, how that had helped him survive, how he had persevered and gone on, despite his hurts. He also wished to say he was capable of more, that his heart was infinite in its capacity. His soul could love all. He could have both Arwen and Legolas in his heart and that it was within his capacity to feel for more than one at a time. But that was too great a thing to convey in a dream and the notion was lost to the creature.

The monster had then roared as if it had been stabbed. It had pulled away, leaving him there, shrieking out a lament that echoed over the land and mountains. Mighty had been that cry, and in that moment, Aragorn had thought surely the monster had been slain. That had been when Legolas had returned. The creature was then gone. There was only the elf before him, crumpling helplessly to the ground, hair obscuring his face like a drawn hood.

Aragorn recalled his mind drifting again, and he knew he had felt Arwen's hands brushing his face. Her voice had been heard in his ear, and she was saying to him, over and over again, "I believe in you. I believe in you . . . "

From beyond, Aragorn recalled the sobbing cries of Legolas in the distance. So sad had been the elf's lament; so heartbreaking had been Legolas' tears. He had longed to reach out and console then, and vaguely he remembered his hand reaching up to brush a tear away from Legolas' smooth cheek. But that memory melted into the words, _"None of this is real . . . All is of reverie . . ." _And he had faded away again, and all his wants and desires had been carried away on the breath of the wind, his longings tucked into the folds of a lost dream.

That was . . . until this moment, when he remembered it all.

The elf turned away, his face flushing under the man's scrutiny. Aragorn blinked. Time had done that magical thing it does when one is caught in the scrutiny of an elf's eyes. He tried not to let it surprise him that he had not noticed the halted passage when he had looked into Legolas' face just a moment before. The memory had been full, yet had only lasted for an instant. But, as he knew, there was much power in elven eyes, and he accepted the ebb and flow of time shifting that came with that power. Then he watched as Legolas dipped his head as if humbled and slipped away from him.

He wondered that the elf should seem to be embarrassed by his gaze for the scrutiny had been his and it had passed in just a quick moment. But he did not dwell there, knowing well that elves were strange folk and to second-guess them was often a mistake.

And yet, strangely, Aragorn's guilt was not a burden to him now. Despite the reality of having to live again and again with the memory of the crime he had committed, Aragorn had come to see something he had not realized before. He recognized that his choices were greater than what he had allowed himself to believe, and that in accepting his criminal offense, a part of him came to understand that he truly could feel abiding emotions for Legolas. Had he admitted from the start what his heart now knew, none of this might have passed. He had been a fool, and he could have laughed were it not so hateful a thing to consider. The Ring would have had no reason to strike a blow if no shame lived. But he had kept his feelings inside, buried, cloaked, because he knew not how to love beyond his moral convictions of this world. The Ring had turned those feelings of deep, abiding friendship into a most taboo thing. The Ring had sullied his _real _feelings of love and had made them perverted and filthy.

There had been a crime, and it had been a terrible one. He had taken the elf's body without consent. That was criminal among all races, and it was most terrible among the Eldar because of the threat it posed to their souls. And yet Legolas had not perished. The elf had managed to live, despite the violation. But how was that so? Had it remained to the elf just a dream?

He tried to piece together the puzzle. Sexual urges to the Firstborn were a thing of the mind. They were not necessarily just an act of the body. As Aragorn nurtured that thought, he came to see the nobility in the elven means of sharing their hearts. Elves could love without bowing to vulgarity. To them, sexual pleasure was a gift, and they found giving their heart to be more than just the giving of bodily desires. To give their bodies was to give over to love entirely. It meant there was a partnership of souls.

Aragorn could imagine quite clearly how poetic and graceful such love might be. Had it been different, he could have seen Legolas as his partner, in mind, even while his outward passions were pledged to Arwen. It could have been so. A brotherhood at heart -- no, more than that. They could have been bound in mind just as greatly as he was to Arwen. How sad he felt to think he had taken that thing so private and so exquisite and allowed it to be tainted by the sexual desires the Ring had weeded from him. It was because the Ring had found in him something of admiration for Legolas' beauty. How small a thing it was, but that had been the chink in his metal. The Ring had found his one humiliation.

He silently cursed It, realizing all It had tried to do. It had tried to rule him through anger, self-doubt, and envy, but those he had fought off. Those he had known.

But then the Ring had taken his more precious feelings and twisted them into lust and the desire for control. How pitiful it was that Aragorn had denied the truth until it had been honed it into something ugly, bringing forward this realization in its marred state. There was the crime! There was his guilt!

Would that he could go back, he would. He saw it now. He would have wanted Legolas' love. He would have taken it and held it dear. He would have returned it with the gift of his own feelings and they could have become one in spirit, if not body. They would have been as one, joined. There would have never been the misunderstanding between them. But now that was spoilt.

Or was it?

He saw Legolas go, and he allowed it, watching as the elf resumed his light jesting with the dwarf and noticing as the Hobbits chuckled at the shared antics of the strange pair. It seemed everyone was pleased to see the friendship blossoming between dwarf and elf, and they celebrated by encouraging it and feeding it reasons more for their laughter. Aragorn was glad that Legolas had this new friendship. He could see how it helped him manage the hurts of a soul that had been torn.

Aragorn's eyes turned then to the hillsides and scanned the deep forests around the riverbanks. He wondered at Boromir's disappearance and tried to discern if he should feel wariness for this strange behavior. But he shook his concern away, deciding the man was likely only taking a few moments for private contemplations. These times were difficult, and he could empathize well the need for introspection. And true to that thought, a minute or two later, the man of Gondor reappeared amongst them, his face sober and thoughtful, but a companion just the same.

Aragorn decided not to dwell on his worries any further though his mind returned to the dream. He pondered its significance. _Had it been different . . . if only it could be different._ But such thoughts would not plague him any more. His conscience was set free. He let his anxiety go, knowing he had only one real task to do. Nothing else mattered but to help Frodo on this Quest. He gave himself over to that and put his own wants aside. Nothing else mattered.

####

Whispered color danced on the faceted surface of the water, and the slips of hue caught Aragorn's eye. Fronds of green, or so it appeared, melted into the deep pool of the sad lake. His eyes glistened and lost focus as tears filled them, and he could no longer see as shimmers of light reflected on the liquid surface. His oar stroked the surface, breaking the clean plane, and any solids of hue he could have made out were lost in the eddying current along with the bubbles and his tears. He could not see for the tears.

Boromir was dead, and the horror of that attack still rode through his mind. It had been a surprise, the orc horde sweeping in, and none of them had expected it. They had suffered for it. Boromir was dead; their companions, Merry and Pippin, were taken; and Frodo and Sam were gone. Their mission was without. All that was left of their weary band were Gimli, Legolas and himself. _Boromir was dead!_

He watched as the craft carrying the warrior's body rocked, drifting closer and closer to the plummeting drop of the falls. In a moment, their friend would be gone, and misery filled Aragorn's soul and his chest constricted with this pain. It was over, this Quest, and he knew not how to proceed. He was needed, this he knew, and he felt he must find a way that he might be of aid, yet he did not know where to look. His eyes were blind for the tears.

The lament had been sung. His voice, and the elf's, had echoed through these cliffs, their tandem song meshing in the ride of back and forth notes, making their mantra a chorus of sorrow. Aragorn could have sobbed for the depth of his feelings when the music had found voice. The song was a hard note put on the completion of this act. The various miseries to his soul merged together and the lump of a choked cry filled his throat.

Again, from the corner of his eye he saw it, a grass-colored fragment floating on the water's surface. Distracted, he gazed more deeply that he might see it, but it was not wholly discernable. Small particles were they, leafy bits floating there. He watched as they careened away, following the path of the warrior's boat. But then he traced it back, looking to the source. The trail started at the stern end of the small craft he shared with the elf and dwarf.

Curiosity got the better of him, and he watched thereinstead of toward the view past the falls. . He saw Legolas' hand dip into the water, carefully skimming the surface, caressing it. And then he saw more of the leafy fragments glide away, and he tried to discern what they were. He was not near enough to see them well for they drifted away from the arcing course of their boat, but they were a jewel-green in hue, that he could tell. The shape of leaves was difficult to make out, as if they had been held in a hand and crushed to something beyond recognition. Still, when they met the water, they uncoiled, blossoming out into the memory of what they had once been.

If he concentrated he could just make out their forms, and then he felt his brow crease with confusion. His eyes widened in shock. What he saw was impossible. The shape looked like . . . That plant did not grow here!

But then he followed the trail in the water again, and he sought out its source. He looked into Legolas' eyes and he saw . . .

Memory touched the periphery of his senses, and all of it rushed upon him, welling up like a loosed assault. The criminal act was laid at his feet, a body, cold, blue and dead. His heart beat rapidly as he saw the elf's eyes stab him with accusation. _You did this! You did this!_

But then they softened, and he realized it was his own heart screaming this blame. The blue of Legolas' eyes gave way from the color of thunderous grey to the pale hue of transparent waves. He saw their focus turning to something inward, and it was like a door was opening. Aragorn could see now inside to that place, to the room of the elf's heart, just over the threshold of his stern front, and he realized there was peace within. He saw that the turmoil of cursing vexation was kept to the outside, blowing like a coarse wind. But there was calm within, and that was where the elf lived. He could see all of what was kept there as he had never been allowed to see before. Those eyes were open to him, and he could penetrate to the soul hidden beneath.

Tears filled Legolas' eyes, and sorrow, so very deep, so very great, filled what lay beyond that outward glance. Death, assault, heartbreak and betrayal were all mixed together. Sorrow and guilt were combined there too. But beyond these, there was also _love_.

_Love._ The eyes sought him out but they did not pierce him. They looked at him but not through him. And there was the answer to all his earlier queries. Love is what the elf held in that most secretive of places. Love was the thing that had kept Legolas alive.

Suddenly Aragorn knew why the elf had not faded after the violence of Aragorn's attack. He could see to the heart of the matter, to the core of the dream and he realized the whole truth. Legolas had understood what the man could not. The Ring had gone astray in willing them to Its call. So depraved was It that It did not know love could be more than base sexual lusts. Legolas knew this for his love was greater than that. He could give of his body because he had the walls of love to protect his heart. The Ring could not have corrupted him because it did not realize how strong that foundation was.

Legolas had known what was happening and he had submitted to it. He had surrendered his body to the darkness. But he had given only that. The truth of his heart had been kept separate and in the peace of this hold.

Aragorn felt a horrible lump rise in his throat choking him with his despair. The force of his perception was overwhelming. It had not been a dream for the elf. Legolas had known, somehow, and had realized what was happening, just as Aragorn had in his own dream.

Still, the elf had wanted. He had writhed in pleasure at the merest of touches. Aragorn had been witness to that too. Then again, Aragorn considered, the Ring had been toying with the elf as much as It had him. This had not just been a test of one. Legolas had been driven as well.

No simple task had it been to keep It away. Thinking on the drug and its effect, there was little else Legolas could have done. But in mind he had never surrendered. Lust had never bound them as the rutting soul of a hideous creature. They had never joined together in simultaneous yearnings or lust. In denying admittance to his heart, Legolas had defeated the monster that had tried to gain them.

Aragorn felt his head spin with the reality of these truths. Legolas had pulled himself apart and given what he could that they both might live. He let the monster take his body, but that was all. But even that had not been done through the lusty desires the drug so enhanced, or because of a head wound, or even because the Ring had told him to do so. He had given himself over in body to Aragorn because he had _loved _Aragorn. Even in the face of the violence of that act, he had surrendered because he _loved_. Seeing now within, Aragorn knew Legolas held him not to blame for that horrendous crime.

But Legolas _had_ fought in a way, even if it had not been through his body. He had not said the words the monster had demanded, and Aragorn realized the reason for this too. It was a many-faced thing, like the creature in his own dream. Elves had control over their urges. They did not just give in to their desires without forethought and consideration. And likely that had been the reason Legolas had protested. _"'Tis wrong,"_ he had said._ "It should not be as such." _The elf knew the make of his soul, and he knew he was being manipulated as much as Aragorn was. He had fought, trying to make sense of it, knowing Aragorn's heart belonged to Arwen. And so he had refused to give wholly in words, even though he gave wholly in body.

This Aragorn saw, and here too, he saw they were the same. He wondered again if the most recent dream had been real. Had the reverse been put upon him? So much within it seemed real, while so much was just as a dream. And even if not real, he knew himself enough to find his strength in the dream's outcome. Just as Legolas had refused to say he had wanted for Aragorn, in his dream Aragorn had not made claim to Legolas. He had denied the words, yearning to say them, but refraining only because . . . because to do so would have been to allow Legolas to become the monster of that crime. Aragorn had relinquished what he desired for the sake of his friend. Because he too _loved_.

But what had come next? The Ring had tried to manipulate and separate them, to get them to take It. And It had succeeded in a way, for a while. Guilt had become a monster all its own. He supposed the small blame had opened the door to the final attempt on them, as seen in this last dream. But the Ring had also failed. Neither had fallen to It. Not truly. They had fought. They had remained true for each other.

What had come instead was Boromir's death, and that was a heavy weight to bear. Here was the evidence of what the Ring's distraction might do. Here was another reminder of how easily the Ring could find weakness in one's soul.

Had he noticed, Aragorn wondered if he could have stopped Boromir? He knew of his own corruption and doubted he might have helped his companion. When he had been held in the Ring's charms, nothing of his own willpower could be overridden. It was only his own heart that had saved him.

A soft breeze touched him and he felt suddenly free. A weight, like a crushing stone, had been lifted from him, and he felt now he was availed the comfort to walk free. He had so much to say, so much to tell. He needed to make Legolas understand the complexity of his heart.

Those eyes beseeched him, looking for comfort and forgiveness and Aragorn vowed those pleas would not be denied. He clearly saw that Legolas had absolved him of his crime. And in return, he looked with compassion at his friend, truly feeling again that they could be healed and they could live, dearly and with hope. Legolas' eyes filled with tears as his own came to match. He knew the same thoughts were being passed and he held Legolas' gaze to affirm them. He sent his love and he could feel it returned. He opened his soul to the elf, and he smiled letting their love mingle in the same free air. _I know you, _he thought, knowing that Legolas could see it in his eyes. _I truly know you now_. And then he dipped his head in a bow, feeling deeply his respect and gratitude. He could never put all he felt into words, but he knew his eyes had shown it. Their love had at last come to blossom.

The Ring was gone from them. They were free. And like the leaves floating on the water, it was time to let what was past flow away, to let it ride over the precipice and sink into the depths of the current passing.

He put his paddle in the water and broke the surface of the mirrored plane. His desire now was only to reach the nearby shore, and he knew Legolas echoed his movements. All felt right again. They were free of coercion and blame. They could plant the seeds of a new beginning. He knew not what the future might hold, but he could see they would find their course now, together. He could believe in that. He could believe in them.

**END**   
  
  


**A/N:** And so we are done. I'm rather sad to say that this story is complete, but it really wasn't meant to have a long life.

Thank you to everyone who took the time to read and review this story. You really did much to keep me going, and two words or two hundred words, each one was gratefully received.

Again, my deepest gratitude to Lamiel. She was much like a muse to me in creating this story. She prodded me in the beginning, and she encouraged me when I was at my lowest. Most importantly, she was there as a friend, and I will never be able to repay her for the strength she gave me in that. She also did a fine job she did as a beta on this fiction, and you can thank her for adding several moments of elf worship into this story. Those were hers entirely.

My thanks also goes out to Elf Lady again. She wasn't able to be about for these last couple of chapters, but she was rooting me on through the others, and I appreciate her taking time away from matters that were of greater import to deal with silly me and this little story. Hugs to you, mellon-nin.

So where do we go from here? I really wish I could say with some certainty. The muses are going out for a swim and a picnic. I'm hoping they'll be coming back. Perhaps if you encouraged them . . .?

  
  
  
_**Response to Reviewers **_

_JastaElf_ - It was a personal challenge to see if I could write a story entirely from one POV. The response from my readers will tell me if I was able to convey Legolas' story too. This last chapter was really meant to give some insight as to what he went through. Of course, in reality, we can never really know what is in the soul of another. All we can do is look for clues. I'm hoping I dropped enough of them as I went along that we can see his real feelings without the necessity of coming out and saying them. Thank you for your kindness and support. Your tab is paid in full.

_IMTrinity _- Are you awake? This is it, and hopefully the story is clear without needing to shift the perspective. I always wanted Legolas to remain somewhat a mystery in this story and I'd rather leave people wondering about his meaning than to spell it all out. Still, I'm hoping all is neatly righted. If it still is unclear to you, email me and I'd be happy to continue this dialog. And if not, thank you for your continued support. Your reviews kept me going you know.

_Theresa Green_ - I heard Galadriel saying almost exactly that. It just seemed right that she would urge their friendship (and further relations so to speak). Truthfully, as I told Nightwing, the Lady simultaneously scares the holy heck out of me, and amuses me no end. In many ways, she is just like any other woman I have ever met. I can see how men would fear her, but I have had a girlfriend or two who could give Galadriel a run for her money. They would probably win too if it weren't for the tricks she can do with her mirror. Oh no, another plot bunny just bit me. I've got to stop discussing Galadriel with you, Theresa.

_Leralonde _- I'll put out the same invitation to you as I did to IMTrinity above. If it really is not clear to you in the end as to what Legolas has been going through, email me and we will continue to discuss it. I don't want confusion, but I think by withholding Legolas' point of view I may have created some for a few. I'm sorry if the story is a little fuzzy.

_symbol-symbol_ - I don't think you can get any more succinct than that. Thank you!

_Zara _- Thank you for the information. My hope is that you are still with this story, because I'd love to offer a reply. Please email me and we can 'talk'. As to your query about how I might do with subject matter beyond slash, let me just say this is my first true slash story. Up until now, my LOTR stories have been dramas, action/adventure, and humor tales. I'd invite you to look at my bio page to read some of these other stories I have written.

_Lyn - _'He gasped, jutting a hand out as if a pain permeated his body.' And then Aragorn commanded of him, "Tell me you feel no pain," which Legolas, under the influence of the drug and feeling rather compliant, promptly did. He walked rather stiffly back to the camp, but Boromir didn't seem to notice that. Rather fortunate for Aragorn, I would say. As for passing the test, he did, though I wouldn't say it was with flying colors. Ultimately what he did was refuse the idea of taking the Ring, even when he knew he could potentially save his friend with It. The power of the Ring only goes so far as to effect those exposed to it. Unless he wore It, I don't think the Ring could have swayed him once he was gone from Its presence. The Ring wanted him to take It and he had not. That's where he succeeded.

_Lamiel_ - The history of the galenolas was obviously my little contribution in this AU world. Tolkien never gave it to us, but I thought it worked well in the dark fabric of this story's weave. Too, I had often wondered what perversions Morgoth must have taken to get the elves to change. It couldn't have been easy and ultimately he needed to alter their nature. Controlling their hearts seemed a good way to cause their metamorphosis. At least that is how I saw it. Thank you for all the kind words and for cheering this story on. Your reviews beyond your beta help were a double kindness.

_Narcolinde_ - Thank you for that. Your kind words made me smile and I'm only sorry the story has to end.

_Nightwing_ - Yes, of course, it is love. Very good, my friend. In my mind there is no other way Legolas could have withstood the brutality put upon him unless he felt a deep abiding love for the one who did it. Had the rape been purposeful, it might have been otherwise, like being taken by a stranger. But because he knows Aragorn well enough to see he would never do such a thing in his right mind, it makes the act somewhat forgivable. Of course he was hurt, understandably, but since he was going through much of the same kind of torment Aragorn was, he actually came to see why Aragorn acted in this way. Legolas slips too, or so it seems. But in that he comes to know he can forgive. At least that's my interpretation. Thank you for all your support and wonderful reviews. They meant much to me.

_Reader's Digest_ - Another astute reader! Thank you for all your kind words, but you should give some credit to yourself. You did a great job sorting this story out and were I grading your sleuthing skills, you'd get an A. Love was at the heart of the dream. It was just made ugly and distorted by the Ring. But the truth remained hidden by Legolas in his refusals to fully relinquish, and by Aragorn in his denials, and in the end, when the evil was past, they were able to look into each other and see they shared the same feeling. They loved. You picked up on all the clues. That pleases me no end. And better still, you looked at Frodo and why the Ring didn't effect him like the others in a way I might not have seen. Of course you are right. The sheltered life of the Shire made the desires of the Hobbit simple and pure. He could not be tainted with the desire for power. Thank you so much for following this story and for your wonderful reviews. It was a pleasure reading your take on this tale.

_Tapetum Lucidum_ - I suppose the scene was worth a chuckle for those of us who swoon for V/O, but I'll probably wait until it comes to cable. Thank you for sharing though. And as for your review, thank you for your continued support of this story. You have brightened my day many times over. As for Legolas getting through Moria, I have to believe he was so overwhelmed with all the physical demands and enduring feats that ensued that he had no time to think about emotional traumas. Same for Aragorn. Aragorn's talk with Galadriel did a lot of good, you see. He learned Legolas would survive, that he could yet be forgiven, and that in the end he had the courage to stand against the mightiest powers, friend or foe. He was feeling considerably better after that.

_Gil-neth_ - Wow! What a wonderful review! Thank you so much! I'm delighted your head was going with all the intricacies of this story. I feel like there needs to be discoveries made along the way if a story is going to keep a reader coming back, so though a lot was said in the beginning of this story, it was enigmatic information, a tease if you will. That it drew you tells me it was a success. Character motivation is important to me. I feel like anyone is capable of the most vile thing imaginable if put in the right circumstances. Making that seem real is the challenge, and I delight that you saw these characters and their actions as 'real'. Again, something went right. As for Gimli and Legolas, there was a brief moment where I considered dropping that little mention as to their pairing. I'm glad I went with my gut and kept it. You and many others seem to approve.

_More? No more. ::sigh:: Ah well. _

_Namarie, my friends . . ._


End file.
